


The Prodigal Son

by Malice_and_Macarons



Series: Rapture Falls [2]
Category: BioShock
Genre: Atlas forgot to die, Cannon Divergent, Canon-Typical Violence, Memory Loss, Mind Games, Multi, OC and Oc mentions, Post First Game, Slow Burn, They're mostly dead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-01 00:22:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 35
Words: 158,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13282998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malice_and_Macarons/pseuds/Malice_and_Macarons
Summary: Atlas wakes up.Death, he thinks, would have been kinder.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story idea was graciously given to me by Gruvu. See notes below for more.
> 
> Author's notes won't really be a thing in this story, but these are things you might need to know going in.
> 
> Takes place post first game using story content from the cut content of Bioshock 2. I always recommend people go read about that, but it's not a requirement for this story. Just fun for anyone who likes Bioshock.
> 
> There are OC's. Mostly in mention and reference. They're mostly there to fill in character backstories and flesh them out a little. Just so you don't think you've missed a cannon character somewhere along the way.
> 
> Anyway, enough rambling. Onwards.
> 
> ...  
> ...

Nothingness, as it turned out, was not all that interesting.

Not that it mattered when the only people who could experience nothing were those dead and gone. As such they had no way in which to observe this tedious and all together anticlimactic idea that was nothingness. It seemed only right that nothing could not be perceived by _something_.

And he was something. Still, somehow.

He knew that he must have been because for as uninteresting as nothingness may have been, once it was replaced with darkness – he was aware once again. Once aware he could not be sure if what he’d experienced up until that point had been death at all. Darkness was, strictly speaking, not nothing and that was all he could see. Blackness, vast and unending. This, the dead man who was not positive he was truly dead at all, decided was far worse.

Darkness was something, but it was not _enough_. There was no life in it; it was about as interesting as the nothing had been.

Why was he here? Simply…lingering.

Was this what happened when something ended? This great deal of emptiness? This lack of any substance whatsoever? If so, the possibly deceased man decided he’d not have a bar of it. This death business was absolutely the worst part of life and unfortunately seemed that one could not be without the other and so he rather hoped this too would end. 

But he could not be dead surely, because the man could hear.

Very faintly, very far away as though it were barely even a memory, he heard an angry voice resounding somewhere inside of the darkness that might have been what was left of his mind. It shouted and seethed, screamed and kick up an almighty fuss but all the potentially lifeless man could make out were hazy snippets of a long since finished conversation. 

“No. No, get out! This is _my_ show ground! _Get. Out._ ” 

He heard that angered voice echoing through the blackness. Knew that these words were meant for him. “Don’t you get it?” It asked to a moment long passed. “You’re not actually alive. There’s nothing you can do. Not a card left to play.”

For a corpse, the man thought there was nothing he would have loved more than to disabuse that notion.

The angered voice that faded in and out of existence went silent for a time, abruptly silenced by a crack that sounded as though it may have been thunder. Then there was silence and in that quiet there was no comfort. Just that stretching blackness and time that could have been as endless as it was brief.

In the darkness there was nothing to do but wait. No fight to give, no thought or word to offer up – just the wait. But for as long or short as the passing of time may have been, so long as there was still something – no matter how dull it may have been – then inevitably more would follow. For the long silenced voice, that ‘ _more’_ was a sharp, sudden pain boiling around the base of his mind. 

His neck. 

His _body_.

Something he’d not felt since the blackness had come creeping in. Something a dead man could not feel. And with it he felt pain. Pins and needles prickling along the limbs he didn’t know he had, superseded by a white hot flush of pain through his veins and then finally the blackness was being pushed out. Small, reaching tendrils beginning to creep along his vision, gradually chasing away the darkness and replacing it with a blinding light that grew brighter and brighter, until the sight truly hurt and the formerly, possibly deceased man opened up the mouth he hadn’t noticed having and screamed.

By no volition of his own the dead man was removed of his title. Returned an old one in it’s place that he’d nearly lost in the darkness. A name this time.

 _Atlas_ fell out of the vita-chamber with all the elegance of a tossed sack of bricks.

Hitting the ground heavily Atlas was left gasping and heaving on the damp floor. Every muscle in his body twitching and spasming either in protest of the pain or a great deal of confusion as they tried to right themselves. They gave it their best effort, trying to figure out in what order to tighten and release to move the host in any other way besides pained jerks and twists. The lungs that had laid dormant for an uncertain period of time faired little better. Struggling to inflate as Atlas tried desperately to drag air down his throat.

Winded, dirty, collapsed on the floor and lost was not a new look for the former revolutionary. He’d been in enough pub brawls topside to know his way around the panic that came with the disorientation and lack of air.

Unfortunately he had no such experience to speak of when dealing with what he could only equate to being rejected from the pearly gates themselves. Not unthinkable seeing as if that particular set of beliefs did prove to be true there was no place in heaven for the likes of him. And if he were asked Atlas would have claimed Rapture to have become a hell of it’s own. Perhaps that was why he could still hear the groaning of the ever strained city around him, still smell the rot and decay that had set in and feel the murky puddles of a sprung leak under his hands. He knew the feeling of this retched city well enough and before his eyes had even cracked open he knew that was exactly where he was.

Rapture, and the good news just continued to roll in.

There wasn’t a single light on above his head. The entire space he’d awoken was only a few red tones shy of the oppressive darkness he’d just been violently expelled from. Those few luminescent red hues were far off however and what gave Atlas the sight he needed to look down at his own dirtied hands as they pressed into the shallow puddle he’d fallen into, was a glow at his spine, hitting his hunched back.

Groggily Atlas pressed a hand to his head, seeking the source of the incessant ringing inside of his skull but found no external damage. Seemed the headache would just have to run its course for the time being.

Finally he shifted and looked back over his shoulder where the brightest light source lay. He was met with the sharp light of a vita-chamber. A fine layer of dust had gathered along its surface but it glowed bright, well and truly alive. Atlas was relieved for its light in that moment, not sure his eyes could make out anything with only those faint red hues scattered around. Those pockets of light wouldn’t be enough for Atlas to find his footing but he heaved himself upright all the same.

Disorientated Atlas struggled to find some balance, needing to plant his hand against the vita-chamber he’d come stumbling out of in the first place with his other hand still pressed to his head as though he could force his mind to stop reeling. Under his fingers the chamber hummed almost pleasantly. It was comforting buzz but Atlas found it unnerving and immediately retracted his fingers from the glassy surface. A cheat card from death seemed like the kind of thing that he ought to be messing with. The moment his fingers had pulled back Atlas felt foolish, retreating from a machine he’d seen used countless times for good even if it had been built to reanimate the king of hell himself.

It was that thought that brought Atlas back to the present beyond his own bewilderment and aching. It took a moment to recall anything beyond the darkness he’d been spat out of, took even longer to piece together a semi-coherent memory. What he finally dragged back into his mind was a name. Jack, the kid.

Looking back to the vita-chamber he began to attached moments and memories to that name. Using the device as a jump point to organize his own mind. Indeed he had seen the vita-chamber in use, Jack had need of it frankly too many times for Atlas’s liking.

Forming a fist with the fingers he’d whipped back from the comforting hum of the vita-chamber, Atlas found himself quickly bombarded with all the instances he could recall of Jack pulling himself free of those chambers only to be sent right back when things got too rough.

The poor kid had suffered through too many impermanent deaths for their fight. _His_ fight.

Had he asked too much of Jack?

Just as soon as the kid had entered his mind the rest of the situation seemed to fully hit Atlas. Where was the kid? Where was _he_ for that matter? When trying to think back to how he might have gotten where he currently stood Atlas was met with nothing but a booming aching behind his eyes and absolutely no solid memories to go off.

In fact if he tried to locate the very last thing he could remember with one hundred percent accuracy and certainty, he remembered Ryan’s voice. Ushering the kid into his lair.

Could something have gone wrong?

Atlas’s stomach all but fell out from under him. They’d been so close, close enough he could practically smell Ryan’s blood on his hands but he couldn't recall if Jack had ever made it to the man himself or been swallowed up in some kind of trap before the deed could be done. Again he wondered, _where was the kid_ , this time with a greater sense of urgency.

It was enough that he finally began to try navigating through the dark. Setting each foot carefully in front of the other and finding that even the simple task of walking was difficult. As though his legs were not used to the practice or had been stilled for an inane amount of time. But he couldn’t allow them the time to get with the program; he had to figure out where he was and how to get back to his base of operations quickly, to locate Jack on the monitors and assure himself all was well.

There were some questions he dared not ask himself in that moment. Specifically how long it had been since he lost sight of Jack and how long he’d been stuck in the darkness. If the answer became any longer than a few hours he knew all these efforts to get back to the plan would be a moot point. They were as good as ghosts if he was left out here in the open and Jack without his help over the radio.

Caught between moving in the opposite direction in an act of survival instinct and continuing on, needing to know what those few light sources were – Atlas chose to move forward.

Cautiously Atlas inched closer to the first of the luminous red hues he could see. Atlas took notice of another faint light that was not quite as eye catching as the others. An ammo vender and then a small distance ahead of him standing brighter, but far less useful to the revolutionary in that moment, a gene-bank. However useless they may have been to Atlas in that moment their placement provided a key piece of information – the power was on but the lights were off. Vita-chambers ran on a seemingly personal energy system Atlas had found. If one was on – they’d all be on. Independent of all else around them. But these vending machines meant the main power was still online and someone had elected to leave the lights off.

Passing by both Atlas finally managed to make out a shape to those few lights. While he moved towards the red glow, thinking to himself that anything that hummed with a crimson light was likely not the sort of thing he ought to get nearer to, he finally realised that what he was looking at were…flowers.

Glowing blood _flowers_ – only in Rapture.

Just as he’d identified the strange flower lights Atlas heard something else within the darkness stir. Tensing he quickly retraced his steps, finding a solid surface he’d previously felt out in the nonexistent light. Carefully he pressed into that surface, unsure as to if anything else down there could see better than he currently could. A spider splicer scuttling its way along the floor was a very real possibility and even more unpleasant image running through his mind as he strained to hear.

What had been a distant indistinguishable sound was abruptly traded out for a loud, grating wail. The unholy racket caused Atlas’s teeth to grind, every nerve set on edge as his hands whipped up this ears, trying to keep it out of his head. He recognised it as the screech of a poorly handled microphone only after an equally grating voice came booming across the otherwise still air.

“What’s this…?”

Static came attached to each word, that voice was something vaguely sensible, something that Atlas for a moment swore he recognised as a sharp intelligence. That feeling of recognition lasted all of three seconds before the voice returned. “What is that I hear?” The voice that had once belonged to one of Rapture’s ‘best and brightest’ was coarse now, even without the aid of the static around its edges. “I hear…someone skulking around in the dark.”

Everyone was mad in Rapture and all he had was a name to apply to that crackling voice. It was more than enough reason to seek out protection. Fortunately Rapture was in no short supply of weaponry. But in this darkness what hope would he have of finding one?

A small shiver rushed down Atlas’s spine. It was not one of fear exactly, at least not the guttural kind that snatched people up in the dead of night and left them trembling in place. No, it was a fear born of anger inside of him that grew upon realising there was a very real danger lurking out of his view and he was without a weapon. Outstanding.

Gritting his teeth Atlas tried again to see through the blackness tried to find the source of that voice as it in turn sought out the unwitting intruder.

He couldn’t make out any human figure moving through the gloom, not so much a flicker of a shape past the low burning red hues. But then again splicers were not always known to walk along the floors nor could they be considered a ‘human figure’ at a certain point.

It was an easy switch; one Atlas took some level of comfort in, moving from dazed and confused to sharply focused. Survival he knew, anger he knew – killing he arguably knew better than both.

While Atlas kept to the shadows and minded his every sound as he weighed his options, the static delivered voice that came cracking through the air showed no such reservations. Crazy he decided with ease, insanity often took all basic self preservations instincts along with it – hence why he was confident he’d be the one to come away still breathing from this encounter if things turned nasty. And when in Rapture you could bet your bottom dollar they would.

“An invalid prowling around the Fontaine premises? The press? A saboteur come to steal company secrets? Show yourself, you belligerent cad!”

Two pieces of information slot neatly into place through the mad man’s mad ranting. First and foremost a name came to Atlas. Gilbert Alexander. A name but no greater meaning behind it. Atlas’s mind applied the name to that voice like one would a title card to an unwritten novel. The second and more vital to his current position in life – _the Fontaine premises._

Which of that wretched blackguard’s frontages was he currently stuck in?

For a bone chilling instant he recalled the sinking. The department store, the oppressive imprisonment that Ryan labeled as a mercy. If he was back in that place Atlas was going to have a small crisis that could only be resolved with a bullet.

The gun for which he’d need to even use said bullet now one he now sorely lacked.

Jack would have made do without.

That thought lodged itself deeply within Atlas’s mind, the only truly solid thing he had to hold onto when everything else became murky and subject to question. Somewhere out there his kid was without him, Atlas had to get back to him and he’d watched that oddball make his way through Rapture with little more than a wrench and a desperately clutched first aid kit.

He’d been setting a heck of a poor example for the kid thus far – time to knock the gears up a level.

Before he could overthink the movement Atlas darted across the barely visible room, passing between the two separate appliances he’d dismissed earlier. Then once their light was no longer useful to him he turned his gaze towards those faint red hues. If he followed their pattern he’d find a surface, judging by the few he could see level with his feet they’d mark the ground as easily as walls. He could make his way out of this place using them.

That was the only working theory he had, and even Atlas acknowledged it to barely be anything at all – it was the only thing he could do to move forward. And he’d not remain stationary any longer.

It was unsteady, uncertain progress. Atlas moved with caution, ever weary of finding the ground beneath him suddenly vanishing into the darkness below. All the while he listened to more of those crazed rantings. Occasionally he’d hear something far off from his location. A buzzing sort of screech that closer might have resembled human speech but with the distance was reduced to a vaguely irritating shriek. He knew it was this Alexander fellow and did not wish him back any time soon. But when in Rapture wishes did not hold water.

“Intruders will be punished to the up mostly severity by the Fontaine corporation!” Those words like so many others in the underwater grave were nothing short of delusional. Even while screamed through whatever speaker the nut-job had found, they were just some long lost fantasy from a time before ADAM became the very life blood of the city. A poison in their veins they willingly injected.

Biting his tongue Atlas refrained from snarling his thought’s aloud. _Fontaine’s been gathering dust for months, let him lie in that grave he dug out for himself_. He distantly recalled repeating a similar sentiment to Jack back at the crook’s fisheries. Indeed half the city still jumped at the mention of his name.

Ryan and Fontaine – if there were ever two men more deserving of the bottom layers of hell, Atlas would see them there himself. He would have put Fontaine under with his own hand had he been given the chance, but he could still make good on Ryan.

Distantly Atlas wondered what he was doing when Fontaine finally kicked the bucket in a flurry of bullets. If he pushed he could remember being…ill at the time. If his memory served, on the cusp of truly stepping out of the shadows into his role as Atlas’s revolutionary voice, and he’d been sick as a dog. That freak Steinman even crossed his memory although he could not for the life of him recall why.

Jarred out of his distractions from the no doubt spliced out of his mind Alexander’s occasional rambling, Atlas found the hands he’d carefully placed against the filthy, blood-crusted walls finding a gap. It took a moment and he had to be careful to try and image where he was currently standing, guess the lay out from those dots of red he could make out, but he’d say that the drop here was in face steps.

Over what would be the ledge to the level he stood on there was a second light coming from below. It too was red but paler and a brighter, broader sort of light. Atlas could guess what machine that was producing that eerie glow. “A Gather’s Garden…” He muttered under his breath, trying to peer down without risking the potential fall from the second floor. Yet another machine he himself had absolutely no need for. But it was from the light of this machine that he finally managed to make something else out.

_Is that…a fish tank?_

Atlas frowned, eyes narrowing as though that would clear the haze around the surface he was looking at. At first he might have mistaken it for a window out into the ocean but the shape was too curved, too enclosed – as though it was designed to hold something inside. It positively towered over him; it’s size entirely unnecessarily for some guppies.

Fish tanks in Rapture were not unheard of, not at all. But it was always a cause for some morbid humour, after all they were in their own backwards version of a fish tank weren’t they? Atlas himself didn’t particular fancy keeping fish. Felt too much like keeping birds with even less of the satisfaction. They weren’t creatures designed to belong in a box or bucket. They had the sky and the ocean – cages were more a human’s place of comfort. It merely went by different names for different folks.

Without the foggiest idea where he was other than knowing it belonged to one of Fontaine’s many fronts, Atlas attempted to get a little closer. Fingers reaching out into the dark, seeking purchase and much to his relief finding the railing that looped around the level he uncertainly stood on. Leaning forward he managed to get a slightly better view of the thing he’d named a fish tank despite its sturdy, mechanical structure. Trying to see if maybe through it – the only really notable structure within the room he’d awoke – might provide some kind of answer to his current predicament.

What he got was almost just that, in the worst way possible. Naturally.

“Ah! There you are my slippery little visitant.” Alexander’s ear splitting voice came snapping over the speakers again, closer than those distant squawks. Very much within the same living space as Atlas currently occupied. “Hiding within my very own office! The nerve, you’re not of a high enough clearance to be down here. This is against policy, _against policy_ , against basic common sense! Of all the discourteous, boorish—you must be a saboteur!”

The words sent a sharp shot of adrenaline through his body, kicking Atlas abruptly into a form of damage control; being spotted was not the end if he just found a way out. But it was the realisation that what he was hearing directly lined up with what he was _seeing_ that truly turned Atlas’s blood cold.

Inside the tank something was writhing. Twisting and turning in time with each of Alexander’s shrieks, its pinkish flesh grotesque and squirming across the poorly held together shape of its bulk. It was too big to be anything Atlas knew. Very briefly his mind flashed with images of giant squids but their grey mass did not hold a candle to this thing he could see curling within the tank before him. His mind raced to apply names of things he knew, but nothing fit. Nothing seemed to fit with the rest of it. The gargantuan size and uneven portions not matching the shark like tail or the shrivelled up appendages that may have once been human—

Human. Splicer. ADAM.

Abruptly it no longer mattered what the beast might have been. Atlas knew its _name_.

He’d give Gilbert Alexander points for joining his nightmare reservoir.

For a single stupid second Atlas was frozen. Stuck in a moment of unadulterated disgust. Towards the thing that had once been a man and spoke to him from the containment tank. Towards the wretched waste Rapture had become. Towards _Ryan_.

“I see you there, intruder!” Alex crowed, no doubt aware of how much more he could see than his unwitting guest. “I’ll have someone escort you from the premises immediately. Be a good chap and comply with these fine men as they see you off.”

Now call him a touch jaded but Atlas had absolutely no hope that his escorts would in fact be fine men – he’d be lucky if they were men at all.

Not a moment later he heard something in the darkness begin to strain and crack, a horrendous metal groan as something gave under immense pressure, a door being pried open at a guess. Followed by a thunderous crash as the metal was thrown to the ground and still there was only that stretching dark. But Atlas knew something emptier than a simple lack of light and held his ground, hands tightening on the railing under him. Rushing off into the unknown was as good as staying where he was under the monster’s gaze. He had to move, but he’d not do so recklessly.

But the heavy footfalls of Gil’s summoned beast were rattling the metal under his hands but what really clinched it for Atlas was the loud, droning bellow of a big daddy through the darkness and as those thundering footsteps got closer he could only conjure up images of a bouncer descending on him while he was unable to defend himself.

A sharp burst of pain at the base of his skull came with abrupt and gruesome example of what would happen to him should that be the case. Pinned to a table, drill lodged between broken ribs with every drop of blood in his body left to paint the surrounding walls and floor – death by the drill. The momentary shock of the unexpected memory forced Atlas back a step and the lingering visage burned into the back of his eye lids have him continuing to take a few more.

It was this accidental stumbling in the darkness that prompted the thing in the tank to shriek at him again, unaware of his delirium and taking any movement for a sign of knowing intent. “Keep away from there, don’t put your filthy hands on that control switch! You don’t have enough clearance to so much as scrub the floors, you bumbling gollumpus!”

And all Atlas could think in that moment, hands lurking forward to find the surface that had caused the gelatinous mass to screech at him again, was a single vicious sentiment. _Fucking idiot. Showed his hand._

Atlas’s fingers were too busy racing over the surface for anything that felt even vaguely like some form of control switch or button as the mocking croon echoed in his own head. Too distracted to think of how unfitting that thought sat inside his own skull felt when his desperate searching finally landed on something that felt like a leaver.

Without a second of hesitation or indeed deeper contemplation, Atlas threw the thing and abruptly all the darkness was chased away in an explosion of light. The facility roaring back to life with a mere throw of a switch. 

Having spent so long in one variation of darkness or another, Atlas was forced to shield his eyes from the harsh light when it hit him against for the first time. Unable to make out anything of the room around him as his eyes were assaulted by the abrupt change. The only thing he had been able to blearily make out before his arms were thrown over his eyes was the thing in the tank – _writhing_.

Gil’s scream came through the speakers a moment later. An ear piercing shriek that tore through the speakers at such a volume they cracked and fizzled into a wailing white noise, unable to process the sheer volume of the sea monster’s agony. Then the thrashing in the tank increased, Alexander’s warped body squirming and curling in on itself as it sought out the only dark corner it could find to hide itself from the light.

Atlas might have been unable to adjust on spot but Gil’s reaction was one of genuine agony and the creature had been chased away by the first of the lights. “Turn it off! Turn it off!” He continued to wail from within it’s watery home. “It burns, destroy it! Turn it off, kill him!” Order after order he shot off and Atlas was reminded that while the light was his ally it could just as easily become an enemy.

Forcing his eyes back open, Atlas squinted against the new light and sought out the figure of the tin man that Gil had sent for him. He found it. The massive beast of what had once been a man just a shadowy figure by the side of Gil’s tank, apparently halted in a moment of either confusion or pain itself as it’s owner continued to kick up an ungodly racket.

Atlas found now was the best time to move.

Unfortunately there was nowhere to go behind him on the upper level. At his back was a door that lead to an airlock; he’d only corner himself between a big daddy and the crushing pressure of the ocean floor if he went back. So forward it was.

No longer bound by how little he could see Atlas launched himself over the railing, landing in front of the glow of the Gather’s Garden and squarely into a filthy puddle. Far too used to being covered in grim after years fighting through Ryan’s little underwater mistake, Atlas found his balance easily and didn’t slip despite the dampness.

Behind him the creature let out another bellowing roar, broken from its stupor by the sound of rapidly fleeing feet. Atlas did not make the mistake of looking back, not so much as a glance over his shoulder as he took a shot in the dark, risking putting himself into a dead end as he ran through unfamiliar halls. He’d never been in this place before, but quickly assigned it the title of illegal and something to do with science, neither of which tended to go over well in Rapture. But that did scream of Fontaine’s shady business. Even with his sight restored he remained blind, not knowing where he was running just that he had to lose the monster behind him or he’d be back at the pearly gates.

For as blind as his movements were Atlas did not wind up trapped into a corner without any form of protection. Instead lady luck must have finally decided he was worth a nickel because he encountered no locked doors and eventually found himself in a room that had a door _he_ could lock. It was little more than instinct that drove Atlas through those doors and immediately lashing out for the locks set just aside from the steel door that flung shut just barely missing his sleeve, as it sealed up tight. Atlas put it down to adrenaline and an unprecedented level of luck as he stood panting for a moment, staring at the now shut door.

Then reality caught back up with him and he hastily dropped, scrambling under a desk that lay pressed up against a near wall and above it a window. Atlas was used to hiding, granted he’d done so in a more broad sense in the past. Hiding his identity and trail as opposed to literally cramming himself into dark corners and holding his breath in the hopes the diving suit monster would fail to find him.

He waited. Silent and still, not daring enough to even breath as the heavy footsteps approached the door. He knew it’d have no trouble busting down the door he’d closed on it. But hoped it would not feel the need to, having lost sight of him long before it could have seen where his frantic, thoughtless path had lead him.

The heavy pounds of the big daddy’s boots had slowed, an unsure stalk through the halls as it sought out it’s lost target. The steps halted by the door and Atlas found himself squeezing his eyes shut and tensing, hoping the next thing he heard would not be the roar of a drill coming to life. Too vividly he could image the creature breaking through the window that stood between them, drill effortlessly passing through the glass and flimsy wooden frame of the desk – killing him as easily as it would any drugged up splicer.

Seconds trickled by at an agonisingly slow pace until finally the steps resumed and the creature wandered off in a different direction, footsteps growing quieter and quieter until finally Atlas couldn’t feel it’s every step sending tremors through the floor.

A whole body sigh heaved out of Atlas’s chest as he collapsed forward, elbows draped over his knees as he dropped his head down between his legs. Feeling as relieved as he was exhausted, only able to breath and think once again after the thing was gone. “Rapture…” He snarled under his breath, fingers pressed harshly against his face as with that moment of relief came an overwhelming wave of exasperation. “Sea monsters now, of course. Don’t know why I was surprised.”

All that anger and exhaustion was astonishingly and extraordinarily easy to summarise and Atlas did so with a simple three word growl.

“Bloody…fucking… _Rapture.”_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you want to scream at me, you can find me here: http://malice-and-macarons.tumblr.com
> 
> Please check out Tomato! She does some absolutely wonderful art, including some art for this AU: http://tomatoscribbles.tumblr.com

 Not that being stuffed, defenceless and lost as all buggery, wasn’t absolutely _riveting_ – but Atlas would very much like to be done with this whole ordeal now.

He’d stayed put under that desk, pressed up against some lumpy bag listening to the goliath’s footsteps passing him by three times already, going on a forth. It was difficult to place if the daddy was simply circling or if it was checking new areas each loop around, its return past the door Atlas had locked so close in time that it was hard to tell if it was aimlessly wandering or still seeking out it’s lost prey.

Regardless of its intent Atlas knew he couldn’t stay here.

Already he’d played a number of scenarios through his mind. The most cowardly of them being to remain here for as long as was humanly possible, which he clocked in at being around two or three days. Had he any drinking water perhaps a week before starvation took him. 

That was not exactly an appealing end to the story of Rapture’s ‘voice of the people’ but then again the way the revolution had panned out there really wasn’t any _good_ end to that tale.

Another option of his was to try sneaking past the beast and finding anything that might serve as a means of escape or way to defend himself, but Atlas was still running blind. He didn’t know what this place was and while he’d miraculously managed to avoid find his way to a complete dead-end during his first instinctual mad dash he didn’t fancy pulling that same magic a second time around. 

So he was left with his final option, seeing what he could use in this tiny box of a room that might save his hide. This option was the least immediately perilous but also perhaps the longest shot. Still he chose to give it a go, waiting for the fourth pass of the tin man’s heavily placed gait until he was sure it’d not accidentally manage a glimpse of him in a moment of suburb carelessness and crawled out from under his hidey-hole. 

Finding that when he pressed his palm against the fabric of the bag he’d unintentionally made his uncomfortable pillow for the stay under the desk, that it shifted and gave away as the contents that made it so lumpy moved inside, almost causing Atlas to lose his balance. If he fell and broke his skull on the ground it would be the most humiliating, anticlimactic death known to man. 

Carefully Atlas peered back through the glass between him and the rest of the building and found nothing stirring on the other side. Satisfied he at least had a few minutes to see what might have been left in this room when the city decided to take a rapid downward plummet into chaos, Atlas got to scouring the desk he’d previously been hunkered under. Any papers were promptly ignored, anything that did not register as a useful supply tossed to the ground. He pocketed a few candy bars that while entirely unappealing to the taste buds, would at least keep him up and running without an empty tank for a while longer. 

While he’d been content to ignore any loose papers of files something else caught his eye. As he tore through the cabinets Atlas found himself pausing on a set of blueprints. It was only a passing moment of curiosity seeing the designs for what was obviously a bathysphere. 

What _kept_ his interest was the hand written note plastered to the bottom of it that simply read ‘off grid’. Somehow that simple little note to the owner of the blueprints read more like _’fuck Andrew Ryan’_ than it did a farfetched scheme.

Everyone knew that all the bathyspheres within Rapture belonged to Ryan. He’d shut them all down the moment it seemed the city’s residents had become flight risks. Not a single one had budged without the bastard’s say so, not since Jack’s arrival. A feat that still escaped Atlas’s understanding. It was a pipedream to think anyone could construct a bathysphere that would escape Ryan’s ever-watchful eye. And yet when Atlas peered at the note he couldn’t help but notice that enquire had a lovely bold red tick next to it. A mark of an impossible victory. 

As Atlas’s mind began to run away with the slim hope that someone might have managed such a exploit a key piece of information from the grotesque squid man himself came back to Atlas. This was one of Fontaine’s schemes wasn’t it? Abruptly that pipe dream seemed infinitely more feasible.

If anyone was to have the spine and means of creating such a vessel right under Ryan’s nose – it was the smuggler king of parasites himself.

A new curiosity began to grow inside of Atlas as he turned away from the desk, eyes sweeping his surroundings again. An office space clearly, but now he found himself wondering exactly who had frequented this space.

It did not take him long to locate a few indicators.

First and foremost the sheer material value of everything inside significantly exceeded that of most often items in Rapture. Something that belonged to the one percent that had faired well in the underwater prison. Someone like Fontaine. 

What had been a curiosity became something akin to hope. Atlas wouldn’t be bold enough to apply that word to it immediately, having had too many disappointments as plans and optimisms collapse around him to put much stock in hope. But it was close enough.

If anyone in Rapture had weapons and means of escape squirrelled away – it was Frank Fontaine. 

Ransacking the place became a more focused effort once Atlas felt he might actually find something of value. What he found nearly stopped his heart in place. A pistol. _A fucking honest to god pistol_. Atlas could have cheered in that moment had he not been acutely aware of the stalking monster somewhere just beyond his safe haven.

The gun had been so innocently left abandoned atop a safe. Whatever gold or illegal documents would be stashed inside not nearly as important as the heavy set of the gun in Atlas’s hands and he’d not run the risk of triggering an alarm.

He never did have a hacker’s hands – but the kid likely could have popped this one open in a matter of sends. A jack of all trades that one, it seemed there was nothing he could not do and if met with something that stumped him, the kid had unfailing found a work around. Calm as could be without a word – unstoppable. Atlas could only hope that had not changed any in his absence. He had to get back to the boy and this gun was a step in the right direction.

Carefully he snapped the barrel open and found it full. Now he’d only need to find a few more bullets and he’d be able to take out a handful of splicers. Stealth he knew would remain his primary approach to the situation but knowing if a splicer got wise he’d be able to unload some lead between their stupid deformed heads was a great weight off his mind. 

The gun secured Atlas turned his focus to tearing the rest of the place apart in the hopes of discovering a few more hidden gems.

He should have known that if he went looking around dead men’s remnants he’d only find the dirt they didn’t bother pouring over the coffin on the way down.

Where he’d shrugged off notes and files with little interest earlier Atlas found himself paying more attention now. He attributed this to the blueprints that gave him reason for pause earlier and the relief that came with the discovery of a means of protection. He had more patience with everything else – but even that was slim. Still Atlas found his eyes passing over old photos and files a bit more slowly this time around. 

He’d assigned this place the label of a laboratory of some kind. Part of Fontaine’s science division at a guess. So it was unsurprisingly when he found photos of plasmid development and more gruesomely – the little sisters. Atlas knew there was no reason to pour over images like that; the history of monsters was better left alone and buried with the sinking city.

Atlas didn’t need a refresher on the horrors of Rapture – but there was something out of place about one of the photos. It took him a moment to realise what it was that kept him looking at the faded image of two scientists standing next to one of their little Frankenstein creatures.

It was a boy.

Despite himself Atlas plucked up the worn photograph, immediately recognising the two scientists. Mama goose herself and the chink, before one’s morality kick and the other kicked the bucket.

The child that sat between them, miserable and sickly looking, connected to more cables than he could follow. Briefly Atlas wondered if they’d attempted to create little brothers to match their sisters but if that was the case than this child was too young and definitely dead, as he’d never once seen a boy out collecting the blood from those angels scattered around. Even if he had, Atlas wouldn’t hold out hope for children of any kind in Rapture. A monster or death, the result much the same regardless.

This must have been a failed test, an early one, as they just plowed through children in Rapture to achieve their ends. Atlas thought of Patrick, imagined if it had been him sitting there. Staring forlornly at the photographer – in pain. Mistreated, uncared for, unwanted beyond the use as a tool to some hardhearted monster in a greater game. 

He imagined it was his son sitting there looking out at him through a photographer’s glass eye and Atlas’s blood boiled.

“Better off for everyone you’re dead as dust, Fontaine. If you weren’t, I’d have happily put you under me self.” Atlas snarled as he forced himself to look away from the photo. Pocketing it on some kind of impulse as he was caught up in his ill thoughts of the dead.

Growling under his breath Atlas approached the control panel located next to the desk he’d previously hidden under. “Now lets see if you can’t still be of use while you’re rotting away.”

Atlas carefully scrutinised the set of controls; he found door locks none of which he dared to touch for fear of releasing something that should stay behind them or inadvertently trapping himself. He very nearly abandoned the control panel until he noticed a little green light that simply read ‘ _bathysphere_.’

His heart had certainly stopped that time.

Disbelieving he set both hands down on either side of the button, as though if he looked closer the letters would reshuffle themselves to something less useful. But they remained and that little niggling sense of something he’d refused to refer to as hope skyrocketed.

That previous thought he’d let pass through his mind without scrutiny returned with a new meaning. _If anyone was to have the spine and means of creating such a vessel right under Ryan’s nose—_

A decision made Atlas snatched up the blueprints he’d set aside before and took stock of the panel one last time, using the door sequences and what little he knew of the place to begin hedging bets on which way this magical escape was located.

As he moved Atlas likened Fontaine’s private bathysphere to spitting in the face of god – a god that hadn’t yet felt the weight of their tyranny. Before he knew it Atlas was in need of something to carry the few things he’d managed to make use of in the office. This took only a few seconds to rectify. 

Atlas ended up back down on his hands and knees, and ignoring the small spike of spite he felt looking back under the desk he’d been forced under in his earlier panic. Now he reached under it looking for the lumpy fabric he’d been crammed up against in his wait and his fingers met with what felt like a leather strap. Pulling back he dragged out an old duffel bag, it was full but not particularly heavy. Atlas yanked it between his legs, pulling it open and nearly let out a bark of laughter as he saw the piles of cash inside. “Rich fuck…” He muttered under his breath as he was forced to fight down the little surge of greed that grew inside of him upon seeing the bundles of Rapture bucks inside. 

He rationalised keeping a few for the vending machines scattered around Rapture, but had to make himself discard the bulkiest of the cash to put his food and bullets inside. Survival won out over his avarice – but only by a thin margin.

It was just as he fastened the duffle back over his shoulder, swinging it to rest against the base of his spine that Atlas heard it. The nearing footfalls of the monster that rumbled the ground with every step. Glancing up sharply to the glass between him and the rest of the facility Atlas expected to see the hulking mass of the daddy nearing him, but the corridors outside remained vacant. 

Time to leave he decided giving the strap another testing tug, making sure it was tight and trustworthy. 

The door he’d previously sealed shut opened with little more than a hiss of steam and slight scraping of metal. He could not be sure if the beast would hear that over the distant but continually ear grating rantings of the thing that had once been Alexander Gilbert. In fact it might have even been lost of the simply melody of Raptures decay, the structure groaning and creaking as more leaks began to spring. Now Atlas did not know exactly where he was, the limited information he had painted a fairly easy picture to understand – but he himself had never been here before.

Yet when he looked around at the erosion and deterioration that crept along every wall and pipe he couldn’t help but think it was worse than it should have been. 

It was not a thought he dwelled on as he darted out into the hall, careful to stick to the walls and not round any corners hastily in fear he’d rush headlong into a splicer or the metal behemoth if he rushed, but it was a thought that persisted. Behind his survival instinct, behind the careful scanning of the imagined map in his mind that would need edits with every new unexpected turn he found, it was there. 

 _This isn’t right_. That nagging thought. _This is in too great a state of disrepair for only one year._  

These concerns were easy to dismiss, after all who was to say Fontaine’s little experimental nightmare hadn’t gone under long before the bastard himself? Atlas couldn’t afford to let his mind become stuck on that loop when his survival was on the line. So he buried it and tightened his fingers around the pistol in hand.

Up ahead he heard the scamper and scrap of skittering feet and a hook slung across the walls. Tensing Atlas pressed back against the wall. His bullets limited and gun unused Atlas was not keen to take a shot at anything if it could be helped. He’d wait for the danger to pass before continuing on. But as he waited something lightly fell against his shoulder, the soft patter of rubble falling from the ceiling. Gaze hastily turning upwards to be met with the horrid sight of a spider freak crawling overhead.

The splicer met Atlas’s stare in the exact same instance and both parities rushed to kill the other.

The sharp screech of metal grated on Atlas’s ears as the spider splicer ripped its hook from the ceiling, angling it for the man under it as Atlas in turned whipped his pistol up and unfaltering pulled the trigger the moment the barrel lined up with the warped body. 

As the bullet tore out of the gun with a ear shattering crack, kicking a far more powerful punch than Atlas had been prepared for – loudly at that. The moment the ringing in his ears registered Atlas felt a sharp, all consuming sense of regret. He shouldn’t have lashed out so quickly in an effort to kill the thing before it could gut him – he’d cost himself a clean shot and his location given away.

Beyond the faint ringing in his ears Atlas heard the thing shriek. A disgusting splat of blood wetting the ground followed quickly by the writhing splicers body with a resounding thud and slap as it fell into its own puddle of blood. It’s body continued to twitch and convulse violently, the bulleting having pierced its stomach, apparently having found some poorly stitched up wound. If it was the fall or the creatures own hook that had torn it open enough to expose it’s insides to Atlas as it lay writhing on the blood splattered ground he couldn’t guess. Very briefly something like disgust crossed Atlas’s mind. But not pity and certainly not horror – Rapture had bore far worse images to him, Atlas’s hands committed atrocities more bloody and staining than this.

And again that stray thought that seemed off colour even for his jaded soul came creeping in. _Walk away._ Leave it to thrash and wail, it’s not your problem. Hold onto the ammunition. Be clever, be shrewd, be the one that survives even if everything else fails.

It screamed again, the slick squelch of its insides spilling out as it crawled and struggled on in vain, animalistic need to survive itself, only growing louder. Soon joined by the disgusting gurgle of its panicked chokes for air. Drowning in its own blood. Atlas gave it ten minutes, at best.

He hadn’t moved. The pistol still tight in his hand. 

 _Leave_. That thought persisted, almost baffled as to why he _hadn’t_ yet. Atlas himself couldn’t say until sluggishly his mind wandered back to the kid. He wouldn’t have walked away. Jack would never had just let this wounded beast struggle and suffer till it’s last moments.

 He killed, he did it more efficiently than any man Atlas had ever known. As though he’d been built with the soul purpose of killing anything hostile that came at him. But for as bloodied as Jack because – cruelty never entered the equation. Never with the sister, never with the few survivors he found – not even with splicers.

Jack would have taken that pistol and unloaded a clip into the splicer's head. A mercy delivered with brutal precision. But a mercy none the less. 

Atlas turned away. He wasn’t the kid. The thing he left on the ground was a wasted bullet, a tell for his location, just a monster that had failed to kill him. It wasn’t worth the trouble or the risk.

“ _H….elp.._.”

 _It_ was a _she._

So hard to tell with how mutated they became and with all the blood and mangled parts the splicer consisted of. But that broken, choked voice was a woman’s. Had been. Splicers were hardly people. But her pathetic snivelling cry had halted his feet. Atlas stared ahead of himself, unable to identify why he’d stopped for a moment.

During the wall he’d heard begging and screaming of all kinds. Turned a blind eye to the pain of those not on his side, been deaf to the pleas of the higher class – nothing had given him reason for pause. 

Even when his hand was turned on the little ones.

For the briefest moment he could feel the heat across his skin, the stench of the burning mistakes – the weight of those sins resting on his shoulders. For just a moment Atlas looked back on his own actions with all the familiarity and justification of a stranger staring upon the work of a mad man.

She croaked again, some gurgled words that lost their meaning as slowly she died, suffering to the end. Atlas’s hand twitched and his shoulders tensed. 

The slight scrape of his boot twisting to turn back towards the injured splicer was abruptly drowned out by an unmistakable bellowing roar and the thundering footsteps of a different kind of beast all together. 

In an instant whatever mental hang up Atlas might have found was discarded and he ran without turning back. Just in time to hear one final terrified shriek and a telling _crunch_ of bone underfoot. He didn’t dare look back, the ground shaking with every step of the behemoth behind him. Instead Atlas conjured up that mental map he’d worked so carefully on earlier and followed it step for step. The metal daddy kept pace with him alarmingly well, faster than Atlas thought they could move, but he did not hear the roar of a drill at his spine nor found himself dodging throwing proximity mines. What kind of beast did Alex the Great have tucked under his thumb? 

More interested in survival than the gathering of knowledge Atlas didn’t bother looking to find out.

Atlas’s thought process consisted only of orders, following them as quickly as they came. Three more turns, stairs – the creature growing closer with every pounding step. Another terrifying roar and a desperate jump down stairs instead of taking them two or even three at time. Atlas’s knees buckled as he landed, ankle screaming in protest as a sharp pain rushed up the length of his calf. Ignore it, choose life over the pain, kick of the ground and ignore the burn. Continue running, live. A simple animal intent, Atlas moved without thought relying on his instinct to pull him through by the skin of his teeth. 

As he rushed out of the stairwell Atlas caught the echo of stairs breaking behind him, the monstrous form behind him breaking through the doorway by the sound of the crash that followed after him, bits of ruble hitting the backs of his feet as he put distance between them.

There, right where the blueprints and notes had predicted – the bathysphere. Atlas would have wanted to check it carefully, would have wanted to run over every inch of the vessel looking for signs of tampering. Looking for signs of an explosive element. He’d lost most of his life in one fiery eruption with bathyspheres once; he’d not lose the rest of it with this one given the chance.

But choices were not a luxury he had at his disposal as the metal man behind him screamed again, this time firing at him. The shot narrowly missing Atlas as his hands flung up instinctively to cover his head as the heavy rivet passed him by with a sharp pull of air. The hatch was open and Atlas felt a wave of relief and blind gratitude run through him as he leapt inside, easily clearing the small body of water between the bathysphere and the solid ground. Once inside Atlas moved immediately for the controls, jerking the leaver down with enough force it seemed to bend and strain – an inch away from breaking in two. But it held steady and so did the bathysphere’s design, door sliding shut with an unhurried slide – unaware of the haste it’s occupant needed in that moment.

Whipping around Atlas just saw the outline of the beast that had been chasing him through the glass and mechanics as they hissed shut. And found himself shocked by how _human_ shaped it appeared. While he was momentarily stunned by the man shaped monster – the daddy pulled up its gun taking aim again and Atlas ducked aside, again covering his head out of reflex. He heard the gun fire and bullets strike the metal mass of his only life line. The sphere shuddered and rocked under the pressure but no cracks appeared. 

They were not moving. Atlas panicked.

He’d not input any coordinates, only shut the door. Despite his instincts saying to stay low in case the beast’s weapons could break the glass and find their target inside, Atlas sprung back up for the controls. Anywhere he decided. Anywhere would do, he could figure it out once he was safe and so thoughtlessly slammed his hand down on the first location he saw. _Anything was better than here_.

The sphere kicked to life with a shudder all it’s own and as if able to sense how it was rapidly losing its prey the daddy rushed forward. It’s hulking form growing closer as Atlas stared out the glass paneling at it. But then they were submerging and its figure was lost under the rush of agitated water sloshing up over the sphere. The big daddy did not follow them down. They were built to withstand the watery depths but if Atlas were to put money on a guess – these ones wouldn’t leave Alex’s grand little shit show up there.

He was…safe.

He’d survived.

Abruptly Atlas was hit with fatigue. Stumbling back away from the window and collapsing into the comfortable but dusty cushioning of the sphere lounge. A personal bathysphere off Ryan’s grid. He laughed. Breathless, wheezing and disbelieving. He’d done it. He’d given Ryan a massive middle finger.

He was still alive, wouldn’t the old bastard just be so shocked if he knew.


	3. Chapter 3

He was home. 

Atlas felt that knowledge settle heavily into his bones. Standing there out there the front door, Rapture at his spine but rendered unimportant as he reveled in the relief that was _home_.

It was home because this was where his family was. Rapture was hell, but they were salvation. The only thing that mattered above all else, above revolution, above revenge – above himself. No matter what the lunatics in their fish tank said – Rapture could never be what they were. The city a pale imitation of paradise dressed up in marvelous lights could not hold a candle to them.

 _They_ were utopia.

With his hand pressed flat against the door Atlas knocked. How strange of him to knock he thought briefly but then just as quickly opened up the door, met with no lock or key and stepped inside. Ah, of course, he knocked to bring his personal welcoming comity running.

“Hey there slugger, where’s my hug?” Atlas barely even got the words out before the child had their little arms wrapped around his legs.

He laughed, nearly stumbling back only to find himself at a loss for how small Patrick seemed. He supposed his son would always seem small to him even once he was an adult. A parent’s curse and blessing. Still smiling he ruffled his child’s hair with a cheeky smile, trying to ignore for a moment how truly young Patrick seemed.

Glancing up Atlas sought out Moira’s figure but in looking away from their boy found himself at a loss. This was where home was but it looked nothing like the shelter that his home usually resided in.

The hallway leading to the rest of the room too clean, nicely furnished. No sign of Rapture’s strain and cracks that came with the business of being a bottom dweller as opposed to Ryan’s inner circle. The lights were warm and steady, not flickering on the verge of blinking out of existence. The air smelt of a freshly supper rather than the mold that began to creep in as Rapture sprung its leaks. Warm, welcoming and safe – not at all the marks of the little shabby rent rooms that Rapture’s workmen could find.

No, this was wrong. They’d never had enough money for a place like this. Not in Mercury Suites. Atlas could not have hoped to provide such place for his family until the revolution tipped in their favour and Ryan’s tyranny brought to an end. So how was it he stood in such a place now?

Blearily Atlas tired to look down to the child wrapped around his legs, tried to make out Patrick’s face but the little mess of blonde curls obscured his sight. When he opened his mouth to call again for Moira the voice he tried to speak with was strangled out.

It mattered not as Moira stepped out into the hallway after her child and a small wave of relief hit Atlas. Moira always knew just what to say to chase away his concerns. She’d have the right words. But as his gaze traveled up from those well memorized hands were they rest, rubbing lower into her apron, to seek out equally familiar eyes – he was met with a blank void.

Jerking back Atlas felt his heart hammer into his chest, a shrill screaming entering his head and growing louder by the second as the faceless woman stepped towards him. Body language not threatening but rendered useless in calming the erratic rise and fall of his chest as he struggled to drag in a full breath again. The static became louder between his ears until Atlas was sure he couldn’t have heard his own voice were he to speak.

Down around his legs the child he’d tried to find Patrick’s face in looked upwards at him only to be met with that same empty space where his boy should have been. That static only grew louder, the arms around his legs tighter and the void where loved ones faces should be grew darker.

It matched the darkness he’d come from, that emptiness that-

It was death.

Atlas recognised it. Knew it and remembered. The sub, the explosion, the kid’s best efforts in vain and Ryan’s callous musings as his family burned.

The emptiness only grew larger and Atlas knew what this was. This hell. He’d gotten them killed, he’d gotten the only thing left in this sunken waste land killed because he hadn’t put them first.

He’d told his lies, he’d run his revolution – he’d lost sight of the only thing that mattered.

The static became louder, drowned out the words he might have said. Still he tried to scream them, tried to reach out for the woman at the end of the hall, tried to conjure up his son’s face in that darkness but there was nothing he could do as the sound grew louder. Thunderous as it drowned all else.

A screaming in his ears that left him deaf to all else, began to push at the insides of his mind until it ached, until it hurt so badly he thought perhaps death had come looking for it’s lost soul again.

Then…a radio came blaring to life.

Atlas kicked upright, a sudden flurry of panicked motion as he had fallen into a light slumber without even realising it - only dragged back to consciousness with a sharp jolt as the familiar sound stuck him. Unused to hearing it from the other end.

Momentarily dazed Atlas pressed a hand to his head trying to slot all his thoughts and memories back in place both short and long term. He had only just managed to recall his run through the laboratory set up from a big daddy when the radio that had first jarred him back into the waking world made another sound.

This time language, a woman’s calm and steely voice filtering through the fuzz of the shortwave radio’s static.

“I recognize that vessel, and you...if there were ever a man who cheated death it would be you. Remarkable, this would mark the second time I have seen a dead man return long after his life had ended.” The voice was slow, deliberate and in a way somehow more grating that Alex’s shrill screaming.

Similarly, Atlas felt he knew this one also.

“Listen carefully, Rapture is now in my care, and you are a relic of her former days in ruin. Your return…presents a potential risk to the common good, one I’m afraid I cannot abide by. However, I do find myself at a loss for _how_ you’ve come to be here now.”

Atlas had just mustered the energy and will to right himself, feeling about as lively as death freshly warmed over with all the coherency of a morning drunk and none of the buzz that came with a bottle before hand. In short life was a cruel bitch.

Still the voice over the radio spoke, not needing his input. Atlas knew her sort, loved the sound of their own voice. Not because it was particularly nice but simply because they believed their own voice the only one with anything remotely interesting to say.

Funnily enough these voices all tended to say exactly the same things.

Groggily Atlas’s gaze flicked to the radio fastened to the other side of the sphere. It felt like a lifetime ago he was the voice blaring out of Jack’s radio, instructing him to grab what was supposedly the lifeline they both needed. Jack’s way out, Atlas’s way to his family. Hadn’t that turned out just marvelously thus far?

Now the voice that came from the static was not that of a friend’s and Atlas’s mind finally put a name to the voice. “And you’d be…Lamb.” He grit out, head still arching horribly as he vaguely tried to put memories to the name.

Sophia Lamb, a con-woman that bought into her own con – yeah he knew her. The nutjob had ended up on Ryan’s shit list even faster than Atlas had.

This endeared her none to Atlas.

In the past there’d been a momentary spark of hope or admiration for the woman that stood up so readily and spoke Ryan into a corner. But that had been rapidly diminished by… _something_.

Atlas tried to pinpoint what it was. Perhaps it was her cultish approach to everything she touched, maybe the way she wiggled her way into people’s minds in a way not unlike Ryan – or perhaps it was simply a little matter of how unlikeably pinched her face was in the center, as though all parts of her person were trying to find their way to a central point.

Not that the crow like woman seemed aware of how little her audience thought of her. “Eight years since the Atlas era ended, how have you returned now?” A pause, a thoughtful silence that Atlas did not fill with his own voice and then quieter still. “This…this bears consideration.”

Bears consideration? _Consideration?_  

Atlas practically leapt upright at the words, no more caring for Lamb’s musing than he had Ryan’s propaganda. “What do ya mean, eight years?” He demanded, snatching up the radio in a moment of thoughtless panic. Where he needed a response there was a beat of silence, prompting Atlas to squeeze the radio and shout. “Answer me, lady!”

“All that energy and not the slightest inclination of where to direct it. You are quite the lost soul, Atlas. Once that vessel has found itself a dwelling to break I shall certainly have some men help guide you through that confusion.”

At this Atlas let out a sharp scoff, the sound void of any humour as he snarled back at the faceless woman. Correcting her terminology. “You mean to kill me.”

Without so much as a hint of humanity Lamb responded in an agreeable tone. “Death is an eternal solution. You’ll find your suffering ends along with it.”

Atlas knew he was not a particularly cool-headed man, knew himself to have become far less patient since picking up the Atlas routine. But in that moment he wished dearly that he had the composure that Jack or even that loose screw Tenenbaum seemed able to keep no matter the stress of a moment. Because the second Lamb’s disinterested words finished Atlas was growling threats into his side of the radio. “Right lady.” He hissed hatefully. “Once I’m done with Ryan I’m going to deal with you. Wherever you’re hauled up in Rapture I’m going to find you and drag you out of it. One way or another this city is getting rid of nutjobs like you. Even if I have to vent every single fucking one of you into the ocean myself!”

The crazy broad was entirely unfazed by his threats. “Extraordinary.” Lamb murmured dryly, as though Atlas were some oddity she had trapped in a glass bowl and was in the process of jabbing at with a needle, just to see which pitch he’d wail at. “You truly don’t have the slightest inkling to the absurd nature your current situation.”

Then as though she were about to impart from great kindness onto him Lamb’s voice returned its focus as she directed Atlas rather than simply musing on his existence to herself. “Allow me to disillusion you some, voice of the people. Your time ended eight years at the same moment Ryan’s heart stopped beating.”

In that moment Atlas was sure he felt his own follow suit.

A second of silence followed as Atlas failed to comprehend what had been said. The words all made sense but in that order, carrying with it that implication, they meant nothing to him. “…what?” He whispered, the quiet breath of disbelief lost under the calm strength of Lamb’s words.

“As I stated previously, you are but a relic of a great moment of failure. An unwanted memento from Rapture’s depravities. Ryan no longer controls this city; it has been in my care since his passing and you unheard from in that time. It would be best if you returned quietly to your unmarked grave.”

And like that she left him.

The radio fizzled out and wound down, leaving Atlas to the quiet of the sphere and the roaring behind his own ears that he could only assume was his mind trying to do the same after failing to process what had just been placed onto it.

But for as little as he seemed to understand, Atlas couldn’t seem to stop his head from spinning. Everything and nothing all at once flying through his mind, the only pieces of comprehensible thought he could pluck from the chaos inside of his skull a simple set of repeating, unrelenting thoughts.

Eight years. Ryan is dead. What happened? Where’s the kid? _Where’s the kid? Where is his kid?_

Over and over again until Atlas could not more keep his footing as he could a coherent thought process. Stumbling Atlas’s hand snapped out to catch his balance against the glass screen between him and the depths of the ocean that the sphere so serenely passed through. It took a few deep, desperate gulps of air before Atlas was able to break through the string of frantic, barely intelligible thoughts with a simple one of his own.

 _Breathe_. _Focus, you are alive._

All else would follow.

Blearily Atlas lifted his head once the urge to vomit had gradually settled to a dull possibility in his gut as opposed to an nearing inevitability as bile burned at the back of his throat. For a moment the best he could manage was pressing it against the cool, smooth surface of the glass as he continued to suck in those careful breaths.

He was no use to anyone, least of all himself, half out of his mind. Atlas would adapt, he always did. He only needed a moment to find his bearings. Rapture did have a nasty habit of making chameleons of them all. Unfortunately most of their facades were unpleasant things, Atlas at least took some solace in thinking he’d tried to craft his own with the intent to do some good.

It had never surpassed being a mere intent it would seem.

Finally feeling calm enough to think straight Atlas began to push himself back away from the glass plane. The reflective surface only catching his eye by chance, however it held his stare long enough for Atlas to make sense of the shapes in the glass.

There in the hazy reflection Atlas saw his own image just as anyone should. However, there was a strange disconnect the moment he recognised those features as his own. It was his face but not in the way he remembered it.

Reaching up Atlas brushed his fingers across his cheek, the him in the mirror mimicked the action and under the pads of his calloused fingers Atlas found the flesh he felt matched the image in the stained glass. Where there should have been the scratch of his stubble, instead he met with something smooth, an upraised patch of flesh. Delicately his fingers traced it, watching his double following the motion. Down and down they followed the same path. They traced the pattern of scars he didn’t recognise.

Slashed across his face was the worst of the marks but it seemed no part of his face had been entirely spared the scars. Across the right of his face his skin was torn, ragged, as though it had been shredded and desperately tried to seal itself back together. The efforts leaving his skin littered with stretched skin and discoloured patches of flesh.

With muted dread Atlas followed the marks down further, pressing in against his throat to find it worse than his face. With each passing moment it became worse.

No longer running for his life blindly in the dark Atlas had nothing but time to see what his eyes had failed to notice earlier. Slowly he pulled his collar aside, staring as his reflection did the same and revealed larger scars beneath. Had no part of his body been spared?

The large deformities lashed across his collar and down to his chest, he could no longer apply the word ‘scar’ to these vein like blemishes.

Mutation. It could only be called a mutation.

Too numb to register panic immediately Atlas’s mind raced through images of splicers and he wondered for a split second if they had seen the beginnings of their eventual nightmarish figures in ways like this. Had they seen these deformities and been more starved for ADAM than they’d been for life? Had they been able to stare at their ugliness outside and find it no more off putting than the ugliness within?

Atlas couldn’t say he empathized. “What the fuck happened to me?” He murmured, voice shaky and not at all the image of a revolutionary hero. But really the hero had been a façade to begin with hadn’t it?

Maybe at the start he meant it, maybe he’d naively believed he could fight for them and not dirty his hands just as much as Ryan in the process.

He still smelt the smoke.

Gradually his eyes turned down to his hands, trailing up his arms and finding they too were not spared the horrors. Smaller, more difficult to notice without directly seeking them out, but sure enough the marks were there too. Stretching down towards his fingertips and growing thicker the further up his arm he looked. 

Discoloured. Atlas found this strange.

He’d seen plenty of scars in his lifetime, some Rapture earned and some natural. The sort copped from an adventure gone wrong or a pub brawl becoming a little too violent. They varied, gouges in flesh, upraised pale lumps of flesh and simple faded slashes across the body – but the things he looked at now were nothing like those natural, life given marks. They were solid, large and _bronze._ Nothing about the sight natural, everything about it so clearly a Rapture given scar.

What had happened to him?

“Kid…” Atlas pressed a hand to his face, teeth grit as he tried to remember anything. Tried to conjure up some comfort that could come from simply _knowing_.

But there was nothing. Just a flash of blue and nothing following it, barely even anything preceding it.

Whatever had happened in the blank spaced of his memory, whatever had caused these disfigurements – could that have done something to Jack as well?

Exhaustion that he could never quite escape came creeping back in, seeping back into his bones until Atlas was left slumped against the glass. Wishing again that he had more control, wishing he had more time, better decisions – wishing for anything that might undo all the mistakes weighing on his shoulders.

Rapture was not a city of breaks however. Atlas was given only a few seconds to allow these newest confusions to sink in before the city dragged him back in.

It brought him back in with a sudden crack followed by the wailing of the sphere’s mechanics and Atlas’s legs being pulled out from under him as the vessel tipped off course and threw him along with it.

Cursing Atlas slammed hard against the side of the bathysphere’s inner wall, not fortunate enough to be cushioned by Fontaine’s overly luxurious interior as he struck nearer to the ceiling than the lounges. Thoughts of monstrous deformities, missing years and forgotten moments were abruptly shoved from Atlas’s mind as he instead grappled with a more familiar thought.

Survive.

Once his body hit the ground again, the sphere still doing its damndest to upheave its occupant and throw him a second time as it rocked violently from side to side.

No longer an unsuspecting ragdoll, Atlas reached out the moment he was able to do so, grabbing hold of the controls with one hand and jamming his feet against the wall to balance in the same moment. The sphere remained tipped at this odd angle as he struggled to see what the little gem that had saved him back in Fontaine’s labe could do besides potter along through the ocean.

Outside the vessel the thing that had originally caused it to tremor so violently and lead Atlas to mistake the cause for a projectile of some kind, shifted. What had struck him was no explosive or failure of the sphere’s navigation system that left them rammed against a rock surface of the seabed terrain. No, what had hit them and thrown the entire bathysphere off its course not only clung to the outside of the structure but continued to _move_ after the initial impact.

Confused for the split second it took to realise that the thing was not only moving but knowingly crawling along the outside of the bathysphere, Atlas was momentarily at a loss. Thoughts of Alex’s gelatinous mass springing to mind with a cold shiver down his spine that sent the revolutionary grappling for the controls.

He needed to make anchorage, _now_.

Logic would have told him that the thing that struck them was too small to be Alex’s grotesque visage but logic had nothing to do with the guttural fear that man experienced in the deep when met with something more well equipped to traverse the terrain. This was not his domain but the thing that continued to scuttle along the outer shell of the small pocket of safety he had, belonged out here in the deep. For the briefest moment Atlas looked away form the controls he frantically tried to pull into the closest possible port, to again meet with the glass shield between him and the rest of the watery grave beyond.

This time met not with his own unfamiliar face, but instead with something he knew a little better. Rapture’s monsters.

Sickly pale flesh was the only thing his mind was able to properly register in that momentary glance. Perhaps it was not the limited time between looking and tearing his eyes away to the controls again, but rather Atlas’s refusal to allow the sight of the thing’s face to pervade his mind. For all the memories he could no longer access, he refused to retain the sight of the thing’s cavernous maw that spilt up the entirety of its face, taking the space where human features should have been.

For Atlas did not for a single second refute this thing had once been human. Its identifying features long since gone, replaced with the elongated limbs and rippling flesh that flowed through the water, ragged ribbons of flesh that may have served some purpose under the sea but to the human eye only served to horrify.

He had seen it and somehow the thing beyond his sanctuary must have seen him. With no visible eyes it must have known there was something to kill inside of the machine it had latched itself to and Atlas knew now that the violent shakes and jerks of the bathysphere were the creatures hooks tearing at the metal shell and pulling it in different directions as it scuttled along the surface. It looked for weaknesses, sought out the way to unwrap the vessel so as to get to the flesh inside. It may have very well been whatever was left of the human inside that lead the creature to know it could get inside if it only found the weakest point.

Even if it could not get to him with its own claws, the creature would likely be just as satisfied with the knowledge he’d drown if the structure sprung a leak. Just to know he was dead.

That, Atlas thought somewhere behind the panic and desperate attempts to pull the sphere back onto some semblance of a course, was likely also attributable to the human left rotting inside the monster.

Having been thrown so far off course Atlas could only barely catch sight of Rapture’s lights from the furthermost corner of the viewing screen. But they were still there and growing nearer, he needed only to keep the vessel from being pulled any further off course. The thing still had legs so perhaps there’d be a whole other set of problems once he reached the security of the city – but at least Atlas would have an opening to shoot the creature on his own turf rather than drown in it’s domain. 

The creature was silent. The underwater world not as chaotic in sound as the land was, but the hiss and scrape of metal as it continued to try and crawl its way inside left nothing to the imagination. The whole sphere shuddered again as the thing rammed itself against the surface, frustrated that its claws had not yet been able to penetrate the surface despite its best efforts.

It was this that caused Atlas to recall the first time he’d seen Jack. Spoken to him across the radio once that spider bitch had failed to get to him. The collective breath of relief they’d both breathed before beginning the long haul together. This thought was somehow a comfort. If the spider splicer couldn’t rip its way into Jack’s vessel then perhaps Atlas’s own would hold against this thing in the water.

Just as Atlas allowed himself to believe as such the most horrendous grating sound tore through the bathysphere followed by a warning alarm wailing. Not so lucky then.

“For fuck sak- alright! _Alright_! You want to play it like that?” Atlas shouted over the alarms at the creature that surely could no more here him than it could have understood his words. But Atlas had reached a point of desperation that made him almost as spiteful as it did manic.

The beastie wanted to slug it out? Fine by him – one way or another one of them was kicking the bucket tonight. He had the entire sphere under his direct control, courtesy of Fontaine’s every effort to fuck Ryan over, and he was just dying to take it for a spine.

No sooner than that borderline suicidal thought occurred to him Atlas wrenched the controls directly to his left, following the last clear place he could pin the creature at and took the whole vessel careening off out of the Rapture lit path.

If there was a word to describe the flurry of scratching from beyond the internal space of the sphere – it was panic. Panic with an equal level of confusion as the easy prey suddenly jerked off course and the creature was forced to reevaluate the situation. It clearly did not do so speedily enough however as Atlas, monster and all met with the unyielding force of a seabed rock face.

More alarms went screaming. Atlas’s brain rattled within his own skull as the whole sphere shook violently under the force with which they’d struck the solid surface. But most importantly, the creature outside wailed. It _could_ make sound. It was a terrible, bone chilling sound. Atlas had heard whale calls, one tended to catch the odd deep sea creature’s low whining calls that were mimicked very closely by the big daddies – but this was entirely different. The treble and wailing quality the same but the pitch and reverberations entirely different, too loud. Deafeningly so in terms of the underwater world. Atlas was sure every creature on the ocean floor had heard its shrieking.

And there was blood. Black as it wafted through the water and filled the limited view Atlas had. It bled and Atlas sneered.

The sphere too was screaming at him, protesting the abuse to its mechanics and no doubt only hanging on by a thin thread, but it had not yet sprung a leak and when Atlas pulled the controls testingly in the opposite direction it followed. Sluggishly and damaged, but still it moved to his command.

He wasn’t dead yet. Unfortunately neither was the monster.

Atlas could feel its weight against the controls, felt how it still clung and clawed at the transport but no longer seemed able to slam against the sphere at it as it had before. Still it bleed and wailed. The sound while disarming, causing the hairs on his neck to stand on end, was comforting in a way. It was injured and a small vicious part of Atlas took nothing but satisfaction in that fact.

Then its clawing began anew. Weaker than before but more feral and determined. Fueled by hurt and anger rather than the unspoken malevolence of all splicers. He almost empathized with it, after all he too wanted it dead just as badly. To say it was personal now an understatement.

Atlas did not think he could risk another hit like that. The sphere was barely sticking together as was. He had no choice but to try and make it to the city and hope the thing grew too weak from its wounds to do any real damage.

But as he’d already decided long before, hope was just not in his nature.

Even as the sphere fell back into the line of Rapture’s lights and the city grew tall overhead the closer they got, Atlas expected any moment to feel the patter of water on his head. Expecting any second to be the moment the creature found the weakness it sought after.

“Come on… _come on_.” Atlas hissed under his breath, passing between the first constructions of Rapture. So close to safety it felt all the crueler that he didn't truly believe he’d make it.

Then, for the first time in living memory, Rapture provided. The black blood that wafted out in a steady stream behind the sphere and the wounded beast must have smelt just the same as any other creature’s blood. 

Once in the water, it attracted sharks. 

Atlas saw it. A sudden shot of grey through the water, a violent and short-lived struggle and then more black. The shark had taken one lethal strike to the wounded creature and with little to no care torn it apart. It had struck the creature from the bottom, always the one you couldn’t see that took that killing bite out of your hide. 

The last Atlas saw of his would be killer was part of its pale fleshy arm hanging out of the shark’s jaws as it leisurely swam by, looping back past the sphere as it returned to the carcass of the kill. 

It amused Atlas in a morbid sort of way that he’d seen the thing’s death while it had failed to even notice until it was too late. And as the victor took to devouring it’s spoils, Atlas was left panting and dazed on the bathysphere floor as slowly Rapture’s, for once welcoming walls, came up to greet him home.

Just once he’d like Rapture to cut him some slack and allow him a small breather. But between the horror that had been Alex’s new form, the monsters that infected the sea around their city as much as within it and this Lamb woman unloading onto him all manner of pleasantries – a break didn’t seem to be on the table.

Wearily Atlas dragged in a shuddering breath, closed his eyes and tried to think of home. Tried to think of Moira and Patrick but with the memory of his nightmare still fresh on his mind he could no more take comfort in that than he could the brazen scars stretching across his arms. 

All the while the broken sphere managed to make port, stilling as Rapture swallowed them back up. “Home sweet home.” Atlas muttered bitterly under his breath. He couldn’t say he missed it.

Another second taken to breathe and then finally Atlas was standing. No rest for the weary.


	4. Chapter 4

The first thing Atlas did, ironically enough, was to snatch the radio up off the ground.

It was barely even a conscious decision. More like a learned reflex, the radio was his only means of communication and while he didn't fancy having Lamb's voice oozing out of it again – he kept it close to him in the vain hope that maybe it would become the small life line it had once been. For both he and the kid.

With his gun secured and the radio carefully latched to his side, Atlas got to moving. Thinking the breather he'd taken had run its course and was beginning to overstay its welcome in a city built to crush him.

Clambering out of the sphere, Atlas paused to take in the damage.

Part of the structure had caved violently in on one side and if he peered back into the pod like vessel he could see the evidence of that impact inside as well where its wall shifted in just a touch. That was the evidence of his efforts to dislodge their little straggler.

The evidence of said straggler was a little more unsettling. He'd heard it ripping at the outer shell of his vessel, but to actually see the claw like gouges across the metal surface was a very different experience. Atlas found himself staring, eyes roaming over the places the claws had found their mark and torn pieces of the sphere clean off, exposing more of it's metal insides.

The longer he looked the more obvious it became that this little beauty wasn't going anywhere again, it'd been a miracle it hadn't broken apart before making port within Rapture.

In short – this wasn't his ticket to the surface unless he wanted to float up there as a corpse.

Now as to where it had managed to make port that was a bit more difficult to place. Much of Rapture looked the same now days, ruin and decay the new norm to the once polished city. In a way Atlas nearly preferred it. It was a small vindictive little part of the revolutionary that looked around the carcass of Ryan's little oligarchy and sneered.

How shocking it must have been for them once real life came to slap them in the face. Perhaps if they hadn't had those silver spoons shoved in at both ends they'd have stood a better chance. Then again, it wasn't as though those from the slums fared the fall of Rapture any better. ADAM well and truly took that fight from their hands before it reached the likes of Cohen and Steinmann.

If Atlas met one more bleedin'  _artist_ …

With a heavy sigh Atlas stood back from the remains of the bathysphere, longing for a smoke as he eyed over the damage for a moment longer.

Well it had gotten him through that ordeal to the best of its ability and Atlas supposed that was the best he could ask for. As he looked over the sphere's battered, and now unusable form, some dull sense of loss registering in his chest.

It was ludicrous to feel as such, this thing wasn't his after all. Even if it had been, it was useless to him now.

He had no further need for it.

Turning away Atlas took a moment to take a guarded look around the section of Rapture he'd been landed with, seeking out any sort of tell as to where it was. What he found was more ruins and strangely enough, sea life. Atlas knew that barnacles and the like had started to grow here and there as water found its way into the city – but this was something else entirely.

His eyes followed the sea growth up until he was craning his neck to see how far it stretched. He found no end to it. In fact it only seemed to become more extensive the longer he looked, finding not only the small growths he was accustomed to spotting – but coral as well. This place was practically a surviving subaquatic ecosystem despite being fairly dry – as much as Rapture could be considered  _dry_.

"This place looks like it's been submerged…" Atlas muttered to himself, needing to organize his thoughts out loud because his own mind wasn't giving him much to work with, still rattling from the near death experience and Lamb's words.

He could think of a number of places that had been flooded within Rapture, but he could think of precious few that could then be  _drained_  again. In fact he could find only one possible example. Dionysus Park. How fitting he'd find himself in Lamb's playground after the woman had passed along some casual death threats. Now as to  _how_  this place had been drained was beyond Atlas. In order to drain it the water had to be rerouted somewhere, he was no expert but in Rapture he was fairly sure that meant flooding another area of the city.

Weren't they already drowning quick enough on their own?

Once he'd assigned a name to the sunken section of the city Atlas began to find more little key pieces of information that supported his initial guess. The scattered and broken down statues he saw pressed against walls and the pointlessly fancy construct over every door and metal gate fit with his hazy memories of the place that passed for an artist's haven.

Lord almighty he was going to meet another artist wasn't he?

As he crept deeper into the park Atlas tried to find something more useful than vague recollection of the way this place had lit up when it flew into full swing. The harsh flash of lights and laughter of frivolous guys and gals come to drown in their vices, that was his memory of this place.

Atlas wondered when he'd ventured into such a scene, tried to recall why he'd come to such a place. Not to look for company surely, he had no fondness for the rich and bored – nor was he in need of a warm body when Moria would have been waiting for him at home.

So why did he so vividly remember how it sounded when Tate took up the stage and put on a showman's fantasy?

She'd played the stage well – a con artist in her own right and along side his disdain there was a begrudging admiration that had no place in his mind. He was getting mixed up.

Distantly his head ached and yet again Atlas chose to push forward as opposed to stop and search for clarity in the past. Once he was safe and secure, he could go soul searching to his heart's content – but he had to get out alive first.

Something that became a little more difficult when up ahead he heard a commotion. Instinctively Atlas went low and stuck close to the walls, pistol slipping comfortingly into his hand as he looked around the corner – seeking out the source of the scuffling. What he found was a bright burst of red as a body when vanishing up into nothing.

Oh marvellous, Houdini splicers.

Just… _perfect_.

Of all the plasmids to come out of Rapture the teleportation ones had arguably been the worst. Even Ryan had tried to put a pin in them, stifling his great chain of commerce and implementing a true  _rule_  against the production of these plasmids, citing security reasons. If there was anything Ryan harped on more about than the importance of a free and vicious market – it was security.

The surface made a dream by the iron fist he kept them away from it with. Ryan was a typical tyrant no matter what he liked to think, going on about the reds and the stifling nature of even the capitalists – but he was easily worse than both put together and he just hadn't seen it until the chain wrapped around Rapture's throat and choked the life out of her.

He was the last to realise the city was sunk. Perhaps he never truly saw this decaying place for what it had become. Right until the end.

Because there  _had_  been an end, hadn't there?

Ultimately it was that whack job's comments that eventually brought some clarity to the situation. Eight years. Had it really been…?

"Doesn't matter." Atlas hissed at himself, forcing his legs to begin walking. Forcing himself to move forward because there was absolutely no point in remaining stationary or looking back. If Lamb wasn't lying by the skin of her teeth and it had been eight years then Atlas had to figure out what he'd missed in that time. Had to know where to go from there.

The houdini splicer was no longer here at least and Atlas didn't hear the telltale burst of sound that signalled their return from wherever they went between locations. Hopefully it had jumped and landed itself halfway through a wall.

It was hilarious in a morbid way to occasionally spot parts of these teleporting nutjobs sticking out of walls or the ground – hilarious if it were not for the unsettling nature of knowing they'd either been severed in two by their carelessness or crushed between the bricks their empty heads appeared between. The imagery was off-putting and ruined what was otherwise a humorous bit of entertainment.

Now as to  _what_  the splicer had been firing off at Atlas wasn't sure. He didn't see any other of the creeps lurking around but recalled having been taken off guard by the spider bitch on the ceiling. He tried not to think too deeply about how she'd been left behind by him in the end. Instead focusing his eyes up, seeking out anymore lunatics that might come dropping from the ceiling. For now it was clear, but he'd not let them get him by surprise like that again.

Cautious Atlas continued through the ruins, seeking out a more familiar path. He recognised the location but not the room he was in. In fact if he really looked around it seemed like a storage area rather than the flashy entertainment halls.

Just as he began to feel as though the place was safe – surprisingly so for Rapture – the sound of his radio kicking into life caused Atlas's pulse to jump sharply. He reached for the device and for a foolish moment thought perhaps he'd hear Jack's voice on the other side. But even if the kid had been there – he never was much of a talker. What came through the radio instead was not Lamb's self-assertive clipped tone, but instead yet another voice he recognised but had not expected to hear again.

" _Th… place us… private playgro… o' one Ava-Marie Tate_." The familiar voice came stuttering through the static as the radio struggled to pick up the correct frequency.

Atlas carefully looked over the little box of a thing, sturdy enough to survive his temper if he decided to toss it as he had on occasion. Most notably when he lost contact with the kid in Cohen's little madhouse.

Now he was gentler, coaxing the radio on the right path until the panama born man's voice came through clearly, only the slightest fuzz of static around the edges of his words remaining. "Ava was Rapture's mad queen o' the silver screen. Propaganda, picture shows, cartoons...even Andy Ryan went to that crazy canuck when his public image needed a little spit-shine."

That was undeniably Augustus Sinclair's charming drawl.

Atlas had thought he died long before this – hadn't heard so much as a whisper about him since this section of Rapture had been shut off to them. But evidentially he had survived the isolation and now spoke to someone through the radio. Atlas knew he was not the intended audience, entering the conversation late and without the other party's knowledge.

"Woman had an antique carousel smuggled down here from her home town... just to tell the world that 'nobody says no to Ava." Atlas scowled at the thought but despite his distaste for those rich enough and obtuse enough to waste such time and money on displays of power – there was an undeniable curl of satisfaction in his gut knowing it had been snuck in right under Ryan's nose.

Atlas distantly thought of  _how_  it would be smuggled down, mind idly mapping out the process of getting something so ridiculous down unnoticed. He knew just the smuggler that could pull it off.

That thought ended there as Sinclair went on. "But the parties…" Sinclair's voice paused, replaced with a sharp whistle that could have been admiration just as soon as it was driven by mockery. "...stuff o' legend, kid. Ava's annual masked ball…Let's just say she made the guests sign a waiver." As August finished with a quiet chuckle that definitely came across as unabashed Atlas was hit with the distinct feeling of nostalgia tugging at his chest.

He recognised this. This explanation coming over the radio – Sinclair was  _guiding_  someone.

That nostalgia stung, he'd not expected that. To think back to when it had been his turn, talking Jack through hell as best he could. Atlas never thought something so simple, and so tainted with loss and remorse, could be a moment in time he missed. At least he knew where the kid was, knew that he wasn't entirely alone in the upward struggle to Ryan's lair – his revolution long since falling apart and his men picked off. Jack was the last long shot he had. Now he didn't know what had become of the boy and stood there listening with a small pang of resentment towards Sinclair who was currently pulling someone else through with a radio and some kindly placed words.

That little sense of resentment becoming all out loathing in the blink of an eye – a mood shift that felt too aggressive.

He and Sinclair had done business in the past and while the man had a silver tongue and not much in the way of morals – it had been a fairly productive and amicable relationship. So why now did he feel such a seething, all consuming hatred towards the man? Surely it wasn't bred purely from his jealousy.

Those thoughts were set on the back burner as Atlas listened a bit closer, catching Sinclair's voice again. Directions this time. "Well, chief — I'm glad you've arrived. We're up here in the train station, and it's locked down like all the others. And boy, it looks like this place was underwater for quite some time." A pause, slight hesitance this time. "However, ah...we heard music upstairs. Somebody's alive in here now...See if you can find out who. "

So much like how he guided Jack.

And Atlas followed the directions not meant for him.

Sinclair – wretched a bastard as he might be – was the first sane voice he'd heard in lord knows how long and whomever he was talking to must have shared in that sanity to some degree. Perhaps they could do business once again. He didn't mind dropping the amicable part if it got results.

Upstairs, the train station. He need only follow those directions and he'd find them.

But when had lady-luck ever decided to shine upon him?

Atlas had walked no more than fifty meters, rounding a corner and stepping gingerly over the corpse of one of those metal behemoths when up above there was a sudden and violent burst of that familiar red. The houdini splicer cracked back into being, body coiled tight in a fighting stance with fire already dancing in it's palm, screaming obscenities as it prepared to toss the shaped inferno.

Bracing for the impact Atlas realised only a second later that it was not he the attack was aimed for. The splicers back actually turned to him, as it twisted following another target and it was only then that Atlas took notice of how the ground shook just slightly.

He'd not identified the small tremor as a big daddy's gait simply because it was not heavy enough, not enough to match even that of a Rosie. He'd grown used to judging a safe distance and with footfalls that gentle he'd barely even noticed – gentle by a daddy's standards. But it was undeniably the same harsh boots that pounded against the ground making it clear that the target was not human at all.

Had the splicer found a little sister and deemed its protector fragile enough a target? The fucking lunatic was more out of its own head than most other splicers if it thought it could bring one of those metal giants down all on its lonesome. Atlas did  _not_  want to get tied up in this, a splicer and daddy's scuffle was none of his damn concern – better he left them to duke it out and see who came out on top.

He was a man who only took weighted bets and he put his money on the big guy for this one.

Another glance at the splicer's spine and Atlas saw it whirling to chase after the target's figure and used that as a means to choose his own path, the opposite direction. From up there on its platform of debris the splicer had a better vantage point but about all the sense to use it as a rabid mutt. All he needed to do was duck around, stick to the other side of the room and keep an eye out for the flash of a drill or launched trap.

But those footsteps were too light for a bouncer, even for a rosie. Briefly the unusual gait of the daddy that had chased him around in Alex's little madhouse flew into his mind. He was not a massive fan of unpredictable things. Atlas liked to know what the stakes were before taking chances – he  _liked_  well plotted schemes. Failsafes in place, escapes mapped out, everything he needed to be sure he was safe. An unknown threat could throw a wrench into all of that.

Of course, it seemed plenty was unknown to him at the moment. He didn't have the luxury of sitting down to puzzle it out.

Overhead the spliced up man shrieked some insignificant nonsense at its target and then with the sound of bullets being rapidly fired, the houdini splicer once again snapped out of existence. This plasmid in essence was one of those unpredictable things that Atlas could have done without.

There was only a split second of warning, the gathering of tiny red particles into a steady cloud before the splicer flung itself back into the world – directly in front of Atlas.

He reared back, hand snapping up with the pistol already trained on the bastard's head but it saw him as quickly as he saw it and when Atlas fired the splicer had already moved again. Unable to jump through space again with its plasmid as what passed as a 'cool down' time set in. Atlas hadn't studied houdini splicers up close – didn't fancy doing it now either, but he did store away the knowledge that it did in fact need time to recharge that plasmid. Small bits of information like that could save a life one of these days.

As the splicer jerked aside of what would have been a bullet for its head, its hand came roaring back to life and as the fire licked up its clenched fists Atlas could feel the heat of it pressing along his skin in the small space between them. He felt it touch on the upraised scars littering his body and found they became numb rivers across his flesh; the fire didn't seem to sting them quite so badly. Perhaps the nerves inside were dead. The startling contrast between skin and scar tissue gave Atlas a small shot of adrenaline that fuelled directly into aiming again.

He had to get this fucker's head off his shoulders before he was set alight.

The second clip unloaded and this time found a mark – just not the one he'd wished for. The bullet tore through the splicer's shoulder where he'd wished to put it through the damn thing's skull. The damage still may have saved his hide regardless as the fire in that hand – seemingly the splicers predominant arm – stuttered and flickered out. Either momentarily unsustainable under the pain that came with being shot or irreparably stolen by the internal damage the bullet caused as it ripped through skin and muscle.

Now if only the fucking thing would take a hint and die already. The splicer, determined as they always were, powered through its injury with little more than a feral snarl and scowl in Atlas's direction. The fire in its other hand glowing brighter as if to make up for the loss of its partner and Atlas tried to take a third shot – ever conscious of how precious little ammo he had to spare.

The time it took to adjust was too long and Atlas knew he'd been hit. It registered in his mind before the pain hit – the knowledge that he  _had_  been damage not a reality for the split second between the thought and feeling. It wasn't until the reek of burned skin hit him that the pain caught up with him and Atlas reeled back with a roar of pain, reaching futilely for his charred flesh, sure he could feel it bubbling under the fierceness of the fire that had burned him.

The flesh of his fingers pressing into the burnt skin did nothing more than shoot more white hot surges of pain through his arm, there was no easy fix to that pain and foolishly his mind narrowed in on it, tunnel visioning until he was only able to look at his arm, staring at how the flesh glistened a smooth, raw red. The skin had been stripped away and left open to the sharp sting of the filthy Rapture air.

But through even that stripped, burning skin – he could still see those vein like scars standing vibrant against his flesh. As though nothing could replace them, even with the flesh stripped from his arm – they persisted, as if they sank down to his very bones. A part of him now.

Above the pounding in his head and the all-consuming aching in his arm, Atlas could hear the splicer howling something. Crazy, pointless and likely some kind of victory. His mind screamed at him, tried to get him to pay attention – shrieked and clawed and pushed at the corners of his mind, trying to get him to stop focusing on the injury to keep himself alive. It wasn't enough and Atlas was taken off his feet, he wasn't sure if it was the splicer's hands that rendered him on the ground, dirty water soaking his already stained clothes, splashing against his fresh wound. The shot of momentary cold not enough to make up for the disgusting that rushed down his spine, knowing how disgusting the water was.

From where he'd hit the ground Atlas could just blearily make out the splicer's fucked mask, vaguely his lip curling in disgust at the thought of where those bunny masks had spawned from. He might have had ears ringing and the burn of bile in the back of his throat, but he knew well enough that the splicer was gloating.

Which was perhaps why when its chest caved outward with a sudden burst of gore, Atlas only sneered in return.

The splicer's body jerked, gaze flicking downward, some type of comprehension on it's distorted face before the drill lodged between his ribs began to  _spin_. Things inside of the splicer's body cracked as bits of flesh tore straight from its body, landing a few centimeters away from Atlas's feet and colouring the water they landed in red. The body jerked, spasming with the last guttural scream the splicer managed – it was a fool for having taken it's eyes of the real enemy and now it was being shredded for that mistake.

Unfortunately as it died, body flung aside like some used up rag doll without so much as a twitch after landing with a heavy thud against a far wall – it had left Atlas without a meat shield between him and the big daddy. The body discarded there was nothing to separate him from the monster and its drill himself. Suddenly the small swell of spite that had forced the sneer onto his lips turned cold and he imagined how easily his own ribs would cave in once the daddy turned that blind rage onto him.

But in the face of fear Atlas met it with anger, an easier emotion to manipulate and so as his vision cleared from the red haze of pain and he looked up at his would be killer – Atlas snarled at the faceless thing.

With his senses mostly returned, tainted only by the rapid thudding of his heart and the persisting ache of his arm, Atlas took stock of the beast for the split second he had left. He was right – it wasn't either of the two models he knew. Its form smaller, like it had pieces of both a rosie and bouncer's build. A drill, slim form, minimal bulk – for a big daddy at least. As he took it all in, knowing it didn't matter what it was if it intended to kill him all the same, he couldn't help but rearrange his thought process somewhat.

It wasn't that this was some amalgamation of the two usual beasts – they stemmed from  _this_. This was an earlier model. It had to be. Atlas didn't quite how or why he was so certain of it – didn't really matter as it's drill was still spinning and it took a lumbering step towards him.

On instinct Atlas made to scramble back, attempting to find his feet but made the mistake of putting weight on his scorched arm. Pulling a rasping sound of pain through his teeth as he crumpled again, curling around the injury instinctively. He'd worked through worse he was sure, he'd been hurt plenty – he could push through this.

So why wasn't he?

He was Atlas. Atlas had spent his life fighting tooth and nail, a physical man. Imposing, no stranger to pain as he worked for everything he had. He was stronger than this. His character was stronger than this.

And yet he remained on the ground, shivering and likely going into shock as the burns he sustained became the only part of his body he could feel. Wide eyed he looked back at the beast at his heels.

In the tin man's metal gaze Atlas saw his own twisted expression reflected back at him. Teeth pulled back into a snarl that looked more like that of a dog pushed into a corner, snapping and howling in some last ditch effort to warn its would be killer off. All those scars and new found imperfections reflected back to him at the same time. He was going to die not knowing how he'd even managed to live again.

Not knowing what ever happened to Ryan, to Rapture, his end goal. To his kid.

Fine, if his body betrayed him and his life was at its final moments, Atlas still had it in him to put that anger on in place of a fearful face and shout at the monster. "Well go on then! Have a fuckin' go at it!" He'd not die snivelling and cowering at the boots of the bigger man.  _He would not._

But then the big daddy stopped.

It stood there, simply staring at him. As much as a faceless creature could seem to stare. Those precious few seconds of pause told Atlas a few key things. First of all…the visor of this creature was not lit up in crimson hues. Nor could he see a brat clinging to its shoulders or skittering around at its feet. Had the splicer provoked it on some suicidal whim without even the possibility of a little sister to tempt it?

Then finally, as though to act as the final nail in the coffin as well as his saving grace. His radio came roaring back to life – in time with a static that seemed to stem from the big daddy's helmet itself.

 _Wha-_  "Now would you look at that." Sinclair's amused, disbelieving chortle came through both Atlas's radio and the beast's helmet. "This isn't something you see every day. Voice o' the people, in the flesh. Thought you'd been popping out daisies for years now."

This had not been what Atlas had in mind when he thought of reaching out to do business with Sinclair once again.


	5. Chapter 5

Once the last tremors of an unexpectedly close reacquainting with the emptiness that was death had started to taper off, Atlas was able to begin logically processing the situation once again. Albeit it at a considerably more stilted and sluggish speed.

Left filthy and shaking on the frigid ground, Atlas could not rip his eyes away from the metal monster that stood before him. Doing little more than sway benevolently to-and-fro. Were it not from the steady _drip, drip, drip_ of blood from the narrowest point of its colossal, rusted drill, the creature would have appeared open hearted or empty minded.

Each moment that passed was counted in the rattling breaths that dragged through Atlas's lungs. With every drop of adrenaline that drained from his veins, in crept the exhaustion. All consuming and overwhelming in a way that the daddy's drill couldn't quite match. The drill might have been the finishing blow but it was fatigue that truly got men killed down here. You were tired, you were dead – not a difficult coloration to see between those two states.

Yet Atlas could scarcely keep his own eyes open. His body trembling, skin scorched and every nerve shaken – he supposed he'd really gone into shock. The thought one of muted acceptance as he tried to focus on the voice that came humming over the radio.

Saying something that Atlas could not quite make heads or tails of. At the very least it did not seem to be a threatening something, but it was difficult to tell for sure with how Atlas's head roared, turning to static once the immediate flight or flight responses had run their course and left him hollowed out from the energy being removed. The daddy remained stationary, watching him with that faceless glass panel. Passive, yet responsive. It was listening to its guide over the radio.

A master calling its pup.

Atlas wondered idly if this one was going to put it down at the end.

He wondered that around about the same moment as his body began to tilt off balance entirely of its own accord. Atlas had no control when his body decided it had tolerated more than enough abuse. He went limp, still conscious as he dropped but only in a superficial, disorientated form.

What he saw was the ground rushing up to meet him. And as his gaze slip from the obedient monster's helmet down to its drill and then its feet – he saw it move.

A single step was all it took to close the small distance between them and up above Atlas heard the creak and groan of the massive creature's form bending and crouching in a way that would not trouble a human but became an awkward task for the metal behemoths. Still they always did crouch down to collect their little ones. They rushed to them so readily; unable to see them for the monsters the rest of the world knew them as. Although the sisters saw them in just the same warped light – their saviours. Atlas had thought that they saw an illusion but in this world he supposed that their reality was more true than his own – after all the big daddies were the only ones that loved them so unconditionally and it had nothing to do with craving ADAM.

Sometimes it seemed these metal monsters were the sanest of them left down here. With more care in their chests than any single Rapture citizen could muster up. A little saddening really.

And it was this particular monster that stopped Atlas's head from cracking painfully against the cement.

Large, coarse, gloved fingers curling around his shoulders and head. Stopping his descent and holding him in a way that suggested fragility. Had he the voice for it Atlas would have barked at the creature to take its unnatural, patronizing care and stuff. But as it was his world grew smaller and smaller with every passing breath.

It handled him with a gentleness that seemed more confused than intentional. Like some overgrown kid floundering with the effort of not accidentally making a delicate situation worse. Typical, these pup sorts were always like that, too strong than they should rightfully have to be. Kinder than they'd been taught to be. Where ever did they learn it?

As much as he wanted to leap up, to pull away from any kind of assistance – not about to believe for a second any of it came without ill intent from the mutt's master – Atlas didn't have the ability.

He'd bide his time, make a plan should he need an escape – he was good at that. But he'd only be able to do so when his mind stopped fading on him. Taking him back under.

For a foolishly, mindless moment Atlas was afraid. Terrified that if he slept he'd be swallowed up by that great nothing. His pride could ache later, but for a second he clutched as the beast holding him, clung on to life and consciousness. He didn't want to die, he hadn't done all he planned yet.

He didn't feel like he'd even had a life to live yet.

It was as the world began to swim in and out of Atlas's focus that beyond the beast's shoulders he saw something. Just a momentary haze, a hue and light that seemed out of place.

His mind was failing him, perhaps he'd begun dreaming before his eyes had shut. But for a moment he swore he'd seen a ghost.

Longing as it made him feel. Atlas did not want to join it.

 

…  
…

 

"Chief, did he just conk out on us?" Sinclair asked through the radio despite knowing full well Atlas had.

Dropped like a sack of potatoes – apt for the Irishman. But given he ought to have been dead for couple of good years by this point; Sinclair thought he was holding up impressively well for a corpse.

Now just what to _do_ with this not so revolutionary hero of the people. Admittedly Sinclair had not planned that far in advance. It was just the novelty of meeting another sound soul within Rapture that had captured his attention. Such a renowned character too. It would have been a waste not to attempt to get some use out of him. But as to exactly what use he'd be Sinclair was still pondering.

"Well hoist the dead weight up. No harm in having him tag along. At least until you need one 'o those sisters up on your shoulders." Despite himself Sinclair took some amusement in knowing Atlas was slung over the kid's shoulder, it seemed rather unflattering for a man as prideful as that to end up in such a position.

Sinclair was not sure what Tenanbum would think of all this. The woman so occupied with those girls seemed to have little interest in much else. Perhaps she'd not so much as acknowledge their unconscious new friend, or more likely, she'd find the use for him that Sinclair lacked.

He wasn't exactly running through the train carts to inform her of the new development, she'd make her way back when she was well and ready.

After almost having been drowned in the blasted train Sinclair thought he would have come to dislike it just a little more. But like Delta it was a sturdy old beast. Made to last where many of those fancy bathyspheres had nasty habits of poisoning and suffocating their inhabitants, it had taken them forever to figure it all out. But this here train stood firm.

Even if it reeked of mould and rusted around every edge, it hadn't let them down just yet. Still, Sinclair found himself a touch stir crazy and even wearier. That could have very well have been the result of being in Rapture as long as he had.

Never thought he'd long for something as simple as a breath of fresh air and a great cloudy blue hanging over his head. Had he been a little more believing of those early day warnings from those few that saw this stifling city closing in around them perhaps he'd have taken his leave when he still could have.

Perhaps he'd have taken a few of them with him. Sold off what technology he could take from Rapture and make himself a pretty penny topside. Fantasies like that had become the norm and while Sinclair had thought them nothing but indulgent trials in regret up until recently, with Delta here now parts of those tormenting fantasies might just come true.

Topside, fresh air, technology stolen and wealth earned.

But it'd be a fantasy seen true without those old voices that had expressed their disquiet with Rapture so long ago.

He'd take what little he could get of course. Himself, alone, at worst, but the kid and all his associated sisters and friends at best. He'd never been one to share wealthy or partake in charity before – but where forced to he'd been a fair businessman with his cut of a deal. Only where he absolutely had to of course.

In this case he was inclined to be a little more giving. If the kid could get him out in one piece with his fortune, Sinclair would gladly give him his fair share of rewards. Apparently expecting nothing but death and decay for as long as he had made a more generous soul of him.

A more generous soul and a far more exhausted soul. Perhaps he'd just been made a touch lonely with nothing but splicers and Lamb's disdain to keep him company those last few years. Happened to the best of them.

For now it seemed Delta was in need of some rest and recovery himself. Hard to tell what was going on in that metal head of his, but Sinclair had gotten rather good at reading those signs of fatigue. He also knew that should he say so, Delta would power on through it all. But it'd do them no good to have their literal only chance of getting out of this sinking ship running on empty and tired.

Better to preserve his energy and keep the poor sod in working order. So Sinclair spoke to him again. "Don't look like the Irish chap there was responsible for the tunes. Before sorting that best you take a breather, sport. Set up shop somewhere with a turret and camera and have a martini break." It almost felt cruel to make it sound so easy. But Sinclair wasn't against some casual cruelty every now and then when the overall effect was to keep them safe.

He was still adjusting to the sounds of those little girls playing in the next cart over. Without that double trill to their voices they really did seem like proper kids again.

' _Euthanasia, son. That's all it is_.'

Sinclair dragged his fingers through his hair, a habit he'd picked up since Rapture started its descent. Those would be words still stuck in his head. But the kid had dissolved the slug that had taken up residence in that girl's belly. Just like that the little sister didn't exist anymore and it was a little girl again.

Lucy, he learned. The girl's name was Lucy and she'd turned right to Delta with a nervous, gracious smile. "Thank you, thank you." She told her saviour and then came crawling back to them.

Her name was Lucy.

In the cart just one over from his own a little girl giggled. Such a sound had never sounded as condemning as it did then.

' _Euthanasia_.'

Survival Sinclair reminded himself. Rapture had always been a place where people fought tooth and nail just to crush another under their boot so they wouldn't drown in their place. Survival came first, and yet with every step the kid took he chose other's survival where he could.

The Kraut put their lives at stake every time she spoke to Delta – encouraging altruism where she herself had left plenty of innocent corpses in her wake back in the day. Yet even when Delta had faced the remains of others like himself, strung up by Gracie's goons like a personalised warning – he'd gone and left the old girl alone. Trusting a snake not to bite.

Was he seriously the only one here that was thinking about their hides anymore?

Tenanbum might have come racing back to Rapture at the mere _hint_ of little sisters going back into production. Understandably Sinclair hadn't believed her when the lunatic scientist claimed to have not only reached the surface but then so willingly _return_ to this sinking ship. He wasn't sure where or when she'd acquired such an unrelenting saviour complex.

She claimed it to be a conscience formed, a sense of maternal obligation. That made a little more sense to Augustus. He'd seen what a motherly instinct could do to even the most calloused woman. Made fighters of them, made a reckless heart. So ready to walk to their grave on the slim chance that the child could have but even a few more precious moments of life.

' _Survival. That's all it is.'_

A harsh sigh came rattling out of Sinclair's chest and he once again dragged his fingers back through his hair, feeling his age for the first time in a while. The others didn't need to see his strain showing, better he keep that smooth confidence when he spoke to Delta – didn't need the kid getting jumpy on him.

His black mood likely could have been attributed to having the kid making his way around the remains of Tate's funhouse. Back when the whole thing was in full swing Sinclair had visited on occasion. Equal parts business and pleasure that one. Towards the end however…well it had become a decidedly less pleasurable experience. Distantly he could still recall the last proper show he'd attended. Back when Ava Tate still polished up Ryan's image here and there and he'd been comfortably nestled between a paycheque from both Ryan Industries and Fontaine Futuristics.

Most often a young man was expected to arrive to those sorts of parties all on his lonesome or with a pretty little thing hanging off his arm. Sinclair had arrived with a pretty one alright – she wouldn't so much as brush his arm however. The thought managed to pull a faint, somewhat bittersweet, smile from Sinclair.

Memories were rather wretched things and down here in Rapture most people were just that – memories. Not a drop of ADAM in his veins, but still there were ghosts on his mind.

And not a single one his friend.

Admittedly he'd never put much stock into friends in the past either. The title of 'friend' serving as a stand in for all sorts of other relationships. Allies, colleagues, barely concealed enemies and useful assets. All rungs to get to the top, though Sinclair did not often make a show of stepping on them like a few other big names that crossed his mind.

If he were to remember correctly, this Atlas was one of his rungs just as much as he'd been a service to the revolutionary in return. Yet their partnership had ended rather abruptly with his entrapment in this wretched little slice of Rapture.

Although if he were to be an honest man, Sinclair would have to admit that his personal feelings on Atlas had soured somewhat towards the end. But personal bias came into business very little. Just as well for him really.

"Herr Sinclair?" He nearly jumped at that German inflection. Not even having heard her approach.

Deep thought was a habit he'd unfortunately picked up since Rapture's fall, not a habit he was neither fond nor proud of. Quickly put on a businessman's smile to brush away all evidence that there might have been anything on his mind besides the goldmine he sought to unearth.

Granted that was on his mind an awful lot as well.

"Come to check in have we?" Sinclair asked despite knowing Tenanbum communicated with the kid all on her lonesome where she could. Not with a single kind word to speak of him. That sat just fine with Sinclair, he didn't have much in the way of favourable words for her either.

The German woman's face was pinched with apprehension, though she didn't seem to have too many other resting expressions now days. "Have you and Delta discovered the source of the ramblings?" She asked, straight to the point. It was somehow more tedious than if she'd spent time trying to throw him through verbal backflips. He might just be growing out of practice without a clever voice to act as a grindstone.

"Had to put that show on a intermission – found ourselves a little distraction." A of which distraction that Delta had carefully handled.

Delta seemed to have found he and their new friend a place to rest with minimal risk. Busy setting up the odd turret and trap rivet just as he would when preparing to defend one of his little girls. Atlas looked about as defenceless as one. Unmoving where he'd been placed up against a piece of wall that kept his back and sides protected while Delta set about setting out a perimeter at his front.

The big daddy's protective instinct was nothing to be scoffed at. If it was learned or some relic of the man he had been before that suit had been forced onto him was anyone's best guess.

"A distraction?" She sounded unimpressed.

With a casual smile and shrug Sinclair gestured to what limited visuals they had on Subject Delta's trek. "See the sorry soul for yourself." He suggested, taking a step away from the monitor to allow Tenanbum access.

She was not a creature of many emotions and those she did express were usually quite dulled by a blatant disinterest. So it was quite a surprise to see every blood drain from the woman's already gaunt face. Her eyes widening just a fraction as she stared at the flickering image.

Curious Sinclair continued to watch as Tenanbum straightened, each muscle in her body coiled tight. Voice tighter still as she spoke, seeming to address no one in particular. "How is this possible?" While the question seemed directed to the heavens itself, Sinclair took up the mantle of answering.

"Suppose his death was a touch exaggerated." The comment carried with it a humorous note, for what else could be the cause of this? But Tenanbum seemed no more comforted. Expression seeming to war between shock, anger and confusion. She neither knew what to think nor what to feel and Sinclair had the distinct impression this was not a common problem for the woman.

Eventually all other emotion gave away to a stony determination and she took up the radio.

"Herr Delta, kill that man."

There was a split second where both Sinclair and the tiny figure of Delta on the screen paused. Sinclair reacted first, snatching the radio away from the crazy broad. Speaking back into it with haste. "Put a stopper on that last for a second there, sport." And then to Tenanbum, "And just what exactly gave you that bright idea?" Anger made itself evident in Sinclair's harsh snap. Not an ounce of the usual charm behind it.

Unfazed by his heated demand Tenanbum met Sinclair's gaze unflinchingly. "He is not a man that should be alive."

Now Sinclair was not a bleeding heart. Tenanbum usually filled that role for Delta. Suggesting mercy and leniency that put them at risk where Sinclair did not. He spoke of survival all but exclusively while she found room for forgiveness. So why the tonal shift? Why the vengeful look in her eyes? There was a coldness behind her stare that almost had Sinclair backing off. _Almost._

"Not much fair to be killing a man in his sleep. Ain't that a just the tiniest bit cold o' you?" He was not one to be throwing stones but he'd decided Atlas might be of some use and felt greatly offended that Tenanbum had not even _thought_ to consult him about issuing his execution.

But if history were any indication – Delta would make his own decision on who and who not to kill. They were but voices standing on opposite sides of his shoulders.

The look Tenanbum was giving him was nothing short of glacial and the pair found themselves caught in a silent moment of stalemate. There was something that she was keeping to herself, some information that prompted this hateful reaction. If it were something strictly personal it wasn't really Sinclair's business, although that did not mean he was about to let her call every shot just because she and Atlas had bad blood between them. Despite himself Sinclair was curious to see what would push Tenanbum to such extreme displays of emotion outside of the little sisters.

It occurred to him only then that this may have been her motivation. Atlas and his men had been no kinder to little sisters than splicers had been. Far more organised that splicers but and about as sympathetic – arguably a more vile form of slaughter.

But even that seemed a stretch. He was surely no threat to them like this and even less so with Delta hovering over him. So it had to be something else and Sinclair wanted to know – though he'd not say just how badly he desired that information.

Finally Tenanbum broke eye contact but not in submission or defeat. Simply turning her stare back to the screen, eyebrows furrowed as she stared at the prone figure. Delta was yet to act on her command, either paused by Sinclair's veto or by that own freewill of his. "What has he had to say?" She asked finally and Sinclair took that as a truce for the time being.

"Not terribly talkative at the moment, passed out all but the moment Delta found him. Not in the best fighting shape either judging by the way that splicer almost lit him up." Not many people traversed Rapture unscathed but Atlas did seem a little more beaten than most even before he'd been scorched.

Tenanbum didn't say anything about it, moving on immediately to her next inquiry. "And what use do you have of him?"

"Still working on that one." She shot him a look he could only laugh at, that irritable scowl that demanded why he felt the need to fight her on such a weightless whim. "Use whatever we can get our hands on, eh?"

Finally with one last parting glower sent the screen's way. "When he wakes I will be first to know. We watch him. _Closely_." She said flatly. "Should he prove a threat, he dies."

As though Sinclair would have done anything other than just that. But for now he'd won and Delta didn't move to take the sleeping man's life. As Tenanbum turned away from him Sinclair wondered what caused a woman such as herself to be filled with such loathing and _fear_ of this man.

"Right." Sinclair spoke into the radio with a sigh of mild relief. "Back on track. Now where were we?"

In his experience, answers came to those who were patient and persistent.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, no beta reader on this and I suck so....yep.

The absolute first thing that Atlas felt upon beginning to near consciousness was a sharp pain between his eyes. The sort he tried to dig out with the base of his thumb but found the ache was too deeply seated in his skull to be reached from the outside. Didn't stop him from trying with a low groan of pain and a hand up to his forehead. The movement of his stiff muscles added nothing to be desired to his condition.

He was not drunk enough to justify this headache. He really had to stop passing out.

Finally Atlas blinked his eyes open, finding the world to still be a mess of blurry shapes and shadows. An unpleasant mess of green and blue – good to know Rapture's colour pallet had changed none. Blearily he turned his gaze to the side, seeking out anything to make more sense of his situation. The first sturdy figure his eyes landed on was that of the big daddy that hadn't killed him the moment it saw him.

Despite this Atlas flinched, the adrenaline rapidly pulling him up and out of the murky waters of sleep. Jerking upright Atlas kicked back away from the impassive giant, feet squealing as his boots grated against the moist ground for purchase. His mad shuffling did little more than emphasis the wall at his back and the searing pain that shot up his side when his raw skin as he pressed into it.

The hiss of pain that pushed through his teeth seemed to prompt the silent witness from its lulled state and Atlas went sharply silent when it moved. Eyes locked on the beast with about as much trust as he'd hand to a shark sharing the water with him.

It might have noticed his distrustful glare, or perhaps it could only move slowly when not fighting as it made no abrupt movements. A gradual ease forward that set every nerve in Atlas's body on edge. He watched as it's armoured body leaned to the side, little pieces of it's suit grinding and hissing as it carried the weight of the drill across the ground with a faint scratching sound.

Then just as calmly as it had moved, the big daddy plucked up a med kit from its side. Atlas had not even noticed it sitting there until the beat held it in its palm. The med kits scattered around Rapture was sizeable bits of gear, packed with plenty to see a dying man a few more precious minutes, but in the big daddy's hand it looked tiny. Inconsequential,  _useless_.

Warily Atlas's eyes passed between the metal man and the much needed health kit. Unsure if reaching out for it would abruptly shatter whatever pacifism had overtaken it.

Distantly he recalled Sinclair's voice humming through the radio. Confusion and adrenaline having made the whole scene very fuzzy in his memory. Like most his other memories he supposed. But he did recall Sinclair having sway over this monster.

He did not think this made him all that much safer. Sinclair being in charge of something that could kill him was a very,  _very_  shallow comfort. Might as well have been a threat now he thought about it.

But his arm was throbbing much worse than his head now the injury had made itself known again and Atlas needed what was in the big daddy's hand.

It wasn't until the beast gently swayed its hand up and down in a come hither gesture that Atlas relented. He watched very carefully as the daddy stretched its fingers out, arching its palm as much as it could in a show of…perhaps reassurance? Not unlike a child attempting to hand feed a spooked creature trying to make its innocent intent known.

Atlas needed the med kit.

"Thanks…" Atlas slowly gave his appreciation to the creature, reaching for the offering just as cautiously as he gave gratitude. Ready to snatch both back if that drill started to whirl.

But both it and the monster it was attached to remained still. Impassive and impossible to gauge behind that faceless mask. Atlas didn't like being unable to see a person's face when they lied to you, using a fake face was about as bad. Though he was not sure he could call the big daddy's build a face of any kind.

Yet as the med kit passed into his hand, a considerably larger looking item when held by him, the beast eased back and Atlas could have named its demeanour as…pleased.

As though satisfied by the good it had done.

Fancy that. A machine made for killing that had more morals to its being than Atlas could have mustered up in his pinky. He wasn't sure if he ought to be ashamed or not by that. Then again, he might have just been projecting and the creature was no more virtuous than a toaster.

Hell…the toaster might have still had him beat.

Deciding it was best not to start examining all the different kitchen appliances that could have bested him in a morality test, Atlas instead tried to focus on doing what he could for this shoddy arm of his.

Looking down at the raw flesh Atlas almost winced. It was hardly the worst he'd seen but when it was his own hide blistering and peeling it was a fair bit different to seeing a splicer's rotten corpse.

Pointedly he looked away from the burn area and down to the kit between his legs. Opening it up Atlas found himself relieved to see it stocked well, sometimes these things had been shells left behind after someone else raided them for something specific. In this case he was lucky. Gauze, need and thread, some bottles to clean up an injury, what looked like a slightly over generous supply of drugs – but wasn't that just the Rapture way? Everything he needed to get moving again and a bit more. Burns were a touchy topic and while they could be dealt with, it wasn't as simple as a gash or stray bullet once removed.

Gingerly Atlas grabbed up some clean water, alarmingly hard to come by in Rapture, and set to cleaning his skin as best he could. Even touching the afflicted area led to greater suffering and Atlas was grinding his teeth as he stubbornly cleaned the wounded skin. It wasn't until he pressed a little too harshly over a blistered area of skin and the fucker  _bust_  that Atlas pulled back with a bark of pain followed by a vicious curse and some sharp breaths to calm himself.

Fuck this. He thought angrily to himself. Fuck this place. Fuck Ryan. Fuck it all.

While in the midst of his hissy fit, the daddy had inched forward. Atlas didn't even notice until it was practically by his side, large hand reaching. He did notice however when those coarse fingers brushed his arm.

Atlas jerked back with an indignant snarl. "I don't need your bleedin' help!" In answer the beast seemed to recoil. If Atlas had to peg a name to it, he'd have said the thing was hurt by his outburst. Pulling back that large gloved hand to its side. Chastised.

Irritated Atlas settled back down with a scowl. Watching the thing as it...sulked.

Unbelievable.

"What do ya even want?" He snapped after a moment longer of terse silence. Did it actually intend to help him? Was it's idea of helping to just tear off the afflicted limb? Atlas didn't particularly want to take his chances.

But as the beast reached for the med kit and began to pick through it on its own, Atlas was admittedly a touch curious. He'd never seen a big daddy behave like this. So…thinking. Like it was really still some sort of person in there.

Certainly he'd never seen one so delicate as it withdrew the gauze and a bottle of what seemed like ointment to ease the swelling and fight infection. Then it held both these items up for Atlas's inspection. For his  _approval._ "I reckon your hands are a touch too big for that sort of work."

Then, just to prove him wrong, the daddy unwound the gauze and popped to lid off the ointment without stretching or breaking either. Alright, it wanted to be smart with him? Atlas's good hand slipped down to his side, feeling for his gun and once he had it he showed the beast what he was holding. Fucking thing didn't so much as flinch. Cocky son of a bitch. "Break my arm and I'll put a bullet between your eyes." Wherever those might be in that helmet.

Truly the threat was a weak one. He might get one lucky shot in before being skewered by that drill, but his meaning was clear enough and the beast went ahead with what it had wanted to do before being barked at by the wounded mutt.

Atlas watched closely in equal parts wariness and genuine astonishment. It was alien in a way, seeing this creature hunched over his arm, working so tenderly not to hurt him further and despite himself Atlas breathed a quiet, "What are you…?" in disbelief.

The question was given no answer and they fell into silence. The daddy was careful in a way he hadn't been. There were no more wounds opened despite its calloused touch and when Atlas let out a little hiss of discomfort as the ointment was pressed into his aching flesh, his current medic paused to check his state, getting a stiff nod from Atlas to continue. Before long the gauze was being wound around his arm. Firm but not painful, much like the daddy's hold as a whole.

The entire experience seemed like a fever dream to Atlas, but much of his life had become like that and with the sharp pain in his arm being gradually soothed he accepted this abnormal exchange readily.

Finally patched up Atlas sat back and tested his arm's range. Seeing if the gauze was going to slip or pull too tight as he moved. The beast's work was impressive. No Steinman granted, but quite amazing for a big daddy's clumsy hands.

Before he could stop himself there was another word of thanks on his lips, mercifully he didn't get the chance to let it slip past when he saw the beast pulling a needle from the kit. The sight had him going tense.

Pain killers. Blissful as the thought was, Atlas refused them. Pushing the needle away much to the beast's confusion. It only pushed back a little and when Atlas shoved, it allowed itself to be pushed away. There was no way Atlas could have forced it back unless the big daddy chose to ease off.

It did so with little more than a slight tip of his giant helmet. Questioning.

"Can't use those." He muttered to the beast, seeming to surprise it. "ADAM." This didn't remove the stance that suggested puzzlement from the daddy. "I ain't no bleeding splicer." Atlas spat with just a touch too much venom.

But then his eyes settled on the unnatural vein like scars running down the length of his arm and he hesitated on his conviction.

Just what had he been before the memories fractured?

Curiously the big daddy's helmet tipped down towards the syringe and then back up to the man. As though trying to make sense of the two things and why one was unacceptable to the other. Something about that eyeless stare began to gnaw at Atlas and finally he reached out with his good hand to take the needle.

"Only if I need it." He muttered, hoping very much that he would never need it. He was in pain, yes, but he thought he could stomach that pain until it was gone rather than force it away with ADAM in his veins. Things like this didn't make splicers sure enough, it was plasmids that truly did it, these watered down products wouldn't lead to that. But Atlas knew well enough that even the smallest touch of ADAM to the body was a massively dangerous undertaking and very few, perhaps none in fact, came back from it.

A small bit of ADAM to fix an agonising wound did no permanent harm, but how easy it was to go from that to a slight strength enhancement. By the end of the week you were throwing lightening and screaming about ants burrowing into your brain.

Atlas would rather not take that first step if he could help it. Still, he also knew that if his pain became too great he might as well kill himself now and save the splicers the trouble.

So he slipped the needle safely away into his bag and resolved to try and not have need of it.

"Where are we?" Atlas asked after he'd settled some. Looking around the decrepit park. He vaguely recognised some of it, but it was hard to make heads or tails of the once vibrant party area. It had corroded after so long underwater that it made Fort Frolic seem well preserved.

After a stretching silence Atlas glanced back towards his silent companion and then recalled that he was in fact a  _silent_  company to have. Well… not as though he hadn't had his fair share of the tight lipped sorts. Most still had their vocal cords to try out mind you. "Aye. Stupid question." He admitted after a hefty sigh. It was foolish to feel disappointed by the lack of conversation. What would he have even had to say to a creature like this if it could speak?

Still…he felt a very poignant sort of seclusion at being unable to kick up a conversation at will. Come and gone had the days he'd made talking an art form. With the right sorts it could be more than that, it could be a sort of dance. A fight with some, a duet with others.

Now there was silence and Atlas had only himself to fill it.

Which was why he jumped so sharply when the beast at his back let out a low rumbling moan. Not speech by any stretch but it was followed by the daddy raising its hand to…point.

Communication. Basic at best, but communication all the same. He'd take it. "Well that'll be a fine a start as any." Atlas muttered and it only hit him at that moment how he could speak with the beast. Not in the traditional sense sure, but it understood him. Clearly it did.

It understood what he said as well as any human would have and responded almost as well. As if only crippled by its lost vocal cords and suddenly it felt like Atlas was doing the beast a disservice.

"Well I must be forgetting my manners in my old age." Atlas began, feeling almost foolish in his attempt at human interaction with the big daddy, but unwilling to go without trying. He hadn't had someone physically by his side in…Christ if he knew how long. "Name's Atlas." He introduced and refused to acknowledged how his chest clenched for just a moment in expectation of the disappointment he would not doubt feel when these efforts proved futile.

Instead what he got was the daddy moving again. This time to hold both hands out. One turned downward and the other pressing a finger over top. Displaying its glove to Atlas a little more clearly. He had to look closely to really see what it was showing him. A symbol.

Atlas frowned, trying to make heads or tails of it. Without thinking he reached out to touch the marking, only to realise what he was doing and pulling back sharply. Glancing up to the daddy's mask for some sign of anger or retaliation but it remained as benevolent as ever and slowly Atlas resumed the motion till he was running his thumb along the mark.

"This…ah, ain't this that greek thing?" Atlas never claimed to be a massively well educated man, but he thought he recognised this. Maybe. Felt like something he'd seen somewhere or had known once but forgot along with plenty of things. He wasn't doing amazingly in the memory department as of late.

It took some searching and failed guesses until he landed on something that felt right. "Gamma…alpha, that sort of thing right?" A small inclination of the daddy's head kept him going until he hit the right mark. "Delta?"

Abruptly the hand withdrew and for a split second Atlas worried he'd done something that would earn him a swift and painful death. But when he followed the daddy's hand up he was genuinely left speechless when it formed a….a  _thumbs up?_

A surprised bark of laughter left Atlas. He simply could not believe he'd seen a big daddy do that. He was rapidly realising this one was nothing like the ones he knew. It was practically human. "Delta huh." He managed once the laughter tapered off. "Well I'll be…not something I thought I'd ever be seeing but…well here we are."

He felt…a little less wretched. Atlas wouldn't attach the word 'loneliness' to what had eased slightly, but regardless it felt a little less overwhelming now. Some good humor replacing it. "Good to be meeting you properly, Delta."

Supposed he owned the beastie a bit of leniency then. If it was a thinking man and had leant him a hand. Friendly folks weren't easy to come by when Rapture still had all its lights on and even less so now days.

Better still to have a friend with a drill attached to it. Atlas wasn't an idiot, he saw the opportunity in this. To have a machine like this fight with him rather than against him? Yeah, that was too good to pass up.

And yet the beast's leash still belonged in different hands.

A fact he'd nearly forgotten until the radio line lit up again. One from Delta and also from the radio latched to his hip. "Well look at you!" Sinclair's jovial voice came from the little box with a static hum to it. "Back in the land of the living."

Plucking up his radio Atlas didn't so much as blink before answering. "Aye, and I suppose I'm expected to thank you for that, Augustus." Atlas chimed back and despite his sardonic tenor – truly he was elated to be hearing another human voice. Friendly or otherwise.

In answer to his dry remark Sinclair chuckled amicably and Atlas wasn't fooled for a moment. They'd worked together in the past, as  _friendly_  as Sinclair might have sounded, he most certainly was not if you weren't of use. Granted that didn't make him a malicious force, just an apathetic one. Would leave Atlas twisting in the wind in a heartbeat if he saw nothing to gain from him.

Cold son of a bitch. Atlas could respect that.

"Tell me, Atlas, lets say you and I do a touch of business again?"

"Well you got me listening, Sinclair. That's half the battle, ain't it?" Atlas tossed a glance up at Delta and noticed how it stood there almost…lost. As though it were some kid listening to adults bickering about things that went right over it's head. Endearing idiot that one. Looking back up into the empty space of the park's decaying ceiling Atlas went on. "Although I can't think of what you intend to have me do for you."

"I'd be a fool to look past your history, Atlas." Sinclair reminded and Atlas could have laughed. He knew what that actually meant. Sinclair didn't know what to do with him yet either, he was biding him time while he figured it out. Fine by him so longer as when Sinclair reached his answer he didn't have his pet big daddy turn on him. "As I see it two hands on deck are better than one." He added with a shrug that Atlas couldn't see but heard clear as day in the tone.

"And what would you be having my hands do?" Atlas probed, wondering what exactly it was Sinclair was playing at down here. Once upon a time it all had to do with hiding secrets, moving weaponry and making money where it could be made.

Now days it all had to do with survival and, if you were the sort, revenge.

Atlas was undeniably the sort, but Sinclair? Atlas couldn't say for sure if the man had a vengeful spirit, however he could easily confirm the man's capability for spite.

So what was it driving him now?

"Got ourselves a small problem under the name of Lamb." Sinclair began, tone as wary as it was irritable. "She's been giving us all different kinds of grief. Cant say I'm much of a fan of hers."

Despite himself Atlas dug his fingers into an old wound of Sinclair's. "I'd imagine not. After all she gave you the boot way back when, didn't she?" He did not wait for Sinclair to choose to take offence to that, quickly moving on. "Had myself a wee chat with the old bat already."

"Have you now?" There was uncertainty in that tone. Uncertainty and concern. Not for Atlas of course, but for what might have been said.

In truth it was a dangerous tone for Atlas. Meant if he took too many wrong steps he'd be the problem they needed to erase. Fortunately he did not believe he'd fall into that category, he had no fondness for the bitch.

"Not a word of the conversation pleasant." Atlas recalled with a sneer. "Lunatic seems to have taken wonderfully to Rapture sinking. And she had plenty to say to me."

None of it made much sense at the time and despite himself Atlas felt her comments begin to weigh on him once again. Snaking into his mind and taking up residency now there was room for them to fester. A relic, eight years, Ryan –  _gone_.

Pulling the radio back up Atlas began to speak again. The words lower, heavier as he dropped pretences for a moment. "Look here, Sinclair. I'll do business with you, whatever you decide for that to be. But I have two conditions." The silence from Sinclair's end was likely the most approval he'd get. The man was not against breaking his own word but why give it if he did not have to? "I get topside and I get a few truths."

"Truths?" Something in Sinclair's tone was off but Atlas paid it no mind. "And pray tell, what truth would you want?"

"We can start with the year." Atlas bit back and when no answer came immediately. "You think I'm pulling a fast one on your right no, Sinclair? I'm serious, I want the current date!"

A simple answer was all he needed. He needed a voice that was not Lamb's to solidify all the evidence around him. No beating around the bush, no second guessing or twisted prose and riddles. A simple straight forward answer.

He got one. But not from Sinclair.

"Nineteen-sixty-eight."

A beat of silence. A weight settling heavily in his stomach. And a voice he knew.

With a deep breath pulled into his lungs, Atlas gradually rose back to his full height, features pulled into a grim expression. Yeah, he knew that voice just fine and if his body felt a rush of ice through his veins and then scorching anger immediately behind it – he felt it a justified reaction.

"Doctor…been a quick minute hasn't it?"

He'd wanted answers and who better to give them than her? Atlas still loathed to hear her voice again. Tenebaum seemed just as pleased to hear from him again. "Not long enough. Not as long as it  _should_  be."

"Indefinitely I'd wager." Their bitterness was shared but Atlas believed his to be more justified. She'd done nothing but get in the kid's way. Done nothing but speak poorly of him.

Arguably some of his bitterness might have stemmed from the lad listening to her over him at times. But more likely it was how the weight in his stomach became heavier recalling  _what_  they'd been arguing for and against. They weren't children anymore, he knew that. But it made his deeds no less bloody.

The doctor had never forgotten that, nor would she forgive him. Just as well her hands were just as coated in those girl's blood.

He hadn't been the one that set it all up after all.

Before anymore spite could pass between them Atlas made a sharp demand, unaware of how loudly or angrily the question would come out until it had passed his lips and rung out in the abandoned parkland around them. "Where is the kid!" He shouted, the force of his words surprising even him. He could see Delta sway from the corner of his eye – perhaps unsettled by his anger.

Tenebaum was silent however and that lack of response fuelled his anger and the words came pouring out. "If you're still fucking here and I'm still fucking here, where is the kid? Where is Jack!"

She began to speak, but it was not the tone of an answer she gave. "Of what concern is-" The question was never fully asked before Atlas exploded again.

"That's my fucking kid!"

There came more silence over the radio and Atlas couldn't stop now he'd started. Each word just as explosive and hateful as the last. "I don't care how many children you've managed to unmake in your lifetime playing fucking Frankenstein, that kid is  _mine_."

Atlas barely knew what he was saying as each accusation came out faster than the last. "I'm the one that looked after him! You put the life of every child you ruined ahead of his, ahead of my family just because you felt guilty! So if you know where Jack is you had better fucking tell me right now!"

This time when the silence fell Atlas was seething, taking in slightly heavier breaths as he waited with teeth clenched and the radio clutched violently in his hand. He waited but almost did not want an answer. He waited, afraid of what she might say and wholeheartedly ready to throw blame onto her just so it would not stick to him should the answer prove to be a painful one.

He was so heated that the slip up went missed. He barely even noticed how attached he'd become to Jack,  _his_  kid? His kid was dead, Patrick had been dead for a long time.

Maybe that was why he was so set on Jack. Some sick replacement and for as vile as the thought was – Atlas waited still and hoped the replacement wasn't gone as well.

"Your family…" Tenebaum's voice was little more than a mystified murmur. Atlas was as confused by her hesitancy as he was enraged.

"What a-fucking-bout them?" He hissed back through the radio. Daring her to say something wrong to pull more of his anger onto her.

This time when Tenebaum paused it was clear she was thinking. The radio on her end still buzzing with static. She was pondering something and that only made Atlas's blood boil hotter still. What the fuck was there to think about? He wanted and answer and she had to have it. If she didn't the who would?

"You lost your family, no?" She asked instead and Atlas was left at a loss.

The question so quickly stole the wind from his sails and he was left grappling with the pieces of what had once been a solid image of his family. "What… you missed the memo or something?" He asked, voice quieter and hollow now. The anger gone and leaving nothing strong enough to replace it. "The same thing that happens to everyone in Rapture happened to them. Ryan."

He was sure she'd known that. Why ask about it? Was she pulling at old wounds for fun? Some sort of punishment for his crimes. As though he'd not been punished enough.

Perhaps it was that maternal instinct of hers that had her pulling back. Refraining from digging deeper into those opened wounds. "I see…" Still that pondering tone. But Atlas didn't snap this time.

Instead when he spoke it was quieter, almost pleading. "Look, doc. I ain't got a clue what's happening here. I just want to know what happened to the kid. Is that really too much to ask?"

Just tell him where Jack was.

Everything else could come after. He just had to hear the good or bad news. Not sure what was worse, knowing he was dead or thinking that he was out there alone in Rapture without him there to help guide him. He'd promised not to leave the kid twisting in the wind like that. It was the first real promise he'd made to him and one of the few he thought he'd be able to keep.

Atlas expected bad or worse news, but was given the shock of his life when Tenebaum finally answered. "Safe. Jack has left Rapture."

He….he what?

"Left?" Atlas repeated uncomprehendingly.

Tenebaum enlightened him but it somehow made even less sense. "To surface."

Was this really a better answer?

"I…" Atlas didn't know what to say to that. A thousand different thoughts racing through his mind. Relief was there, disbelief as well and then finally unease. Had Jack left without him? Without his memory he couldn't be sure how it had gone down. Had he sent the kid off alone for some reason?

Jack wouldn't have…he wouldn't have  _left_  him here. The kid just wouldn't do that. Atlas refused to believe that.

"Everyone seems to think I'm dead." He murmured after a moment of trying to organize his thoughts and not quite meeting the mark. "Jack…he must have thought so too. Right?" It was just a misunderstanding. Jack wouldn't have left him here.  _He wouldn't have_.

"A misunderstanding." Tenebaum repeated seemingly in agreement then after a second ventured a little further. "And you…you do not recall how you came to be…deceased?"

"Last thing I remember Jack was about to get to Ryan. We were so close and then…nothing. I got nothing. Did we do it? Tenebaum, did we kill Ryan?" He asked, voice edging on desperate. People would forgive him for being a little out of sorts for this.

"Yes." Tenebaum answered calmly. "Jack killed Ryan on your word."

Atlas let out a dry chuckle in a breath, hand clapped over his eyes as he smiled. It was an unpleasant smile but at least it was something. Ryan dead, Jack alive. Everything else was white noise.

"Well…that'd be the first good news of the day."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I swear one day I'll get a beta reader for this.

Despite being given the good news of Ryan's demise, Atlas found himself hard pressed to feel much in the way positivity.

He expected a rush of visceral glee, some sort of fierce satisfaction knowing Ryan finally got what was coming to him. Instead the longer the thought had to sink in and make itself a reality in his mind, the less Atlas seemed to feel.

If he couldn't have a sense of violent delight then could he have at least felt some kind of closure?

Disconcerting was the best word to describe the numbness that gradually came creeping in. Perhaps it was natural to feel a bit of lost motivation after having achieved the one thing that seemed to keep him going, even without the memory of that victory.

A bit of lost motivation seemed perfectly reasonable, but this all consuming sense of purposelessness made him uneasy. Dead and gathering dust, yet Ryan still found a way to make him feel like he was the ghost that no longer had unfinished business to cling to. Fucking bastard.

The conversation with Tenebaum had been decidedly unpleasant although Atlas wasn't sure if he could claim any kind of relief when Sinclair took over the radio again.

Even as the two voices switched over, Atlas had allowed the radio to drop by his side as he passed Delta and took a seat on a piece of Rapture's many rumbling debris. If he took the time to actually focus on what he'd just made into a chair he'd have found it to be one of the park's formerly beautiful statues. He never cared much for respecting art in the first place. At least nothing that came out of Cohen's little museum of self-grandeur.

What had once been art was now a nice place to rest his tired arse.

As Delta listened, presumably anyway, to Sinclair's new set of orders that he placed more like suggestions, Atlas let himself again long for a cigarette as he looked out over the decaying park. He caught Sinclair saying he'd located a new train cart for them. Atlas thought it almost strange that he was so open about where he and the doctor were holed up but didn't give it more than a passing thought.

A new train cart but still that shadow in the security booth. That kept his attention and Atlas looked up towards a large set of barnacle-crusted doors. The door out of Cohen's Collection to the main hub of Dionysus Park and if his memory served that main hub was what would lead to the strain station and the security booth.

That all passed through his mind in a split second and then squarely landed on the final thought of – when is a shadow ever anything good in Rapture? With that thought he slipped his pistol back into his hand. Idle but ready should he need it and he usually did.

The motion was so subtle that Atlas believed no one would have noticed it even had there been any other sets of sane eyes around to watch. But a moment later Delta came lumbering up and despite himself Atlas still jumped. He wasn't used to having someone so large approach him in Rapture without the intentions of crushing him. It took some adjusting. Without breaking his stride, Delta leant down just a bit, still easily towering over Atlas, and again offered his hand. This time he was presenting a pack of bullets to Atlas.

He was just going to have to get used to the new reality of having a big daddy offering to give him bullets rather than shoot him full of them. It was quite the reality shift.

Again he uttered tentative thanks as he took the pack, giving it a quick shake to hear the bullets rattling inside. Easily ten or so knocking around in there. Just how many supplies did Delta have to be able to provide him with ammunition so carelessly.

Seemingly satisfied with his subpar thanks, Delta straightened back up with a firm tip of his helmet that Atlas did not immediately register as a nod. Then stillness. Atlas was waiting for something, some other shoe to drop and only realised after a dumb few seconds passed that Delta was waiting as well.

For him specifically.

"Right." Atlas muttered under his breath, standing back up off of the former artwork he'd been putting to shame. Still getting used to the idea of having someone around, someone on his side again. Hadn't had his boys with him for months now, or he supposed it had actually been years. He certainly didn't look eight years older, though he might have just felt it. Having Delta standing there, expecting him to get up and tag along was just another thing to add to the list of oddities he needed to wrap his head around.

But for now at least, it meant he had someone watching his back and that was a weight off his shoulders. Although he hesitated to fully commit to the idea and did not say he'd do the same for Delta.

Keeping his cards close to his chest and his words to himself, Atlas flicked the barrel of his gun open, replaced the bullets he'd lost to save his own hide and snapped it back shut with a smirk. Always felt better with a well-loaded gun within reach.

The smile was lost relatively quickly as his scorched arm kicked up a fuss. Knowing he'd have to get used to that ache, Atlas rolled his shoulder back, flexing each muscle he could isolate in his arm and then every finger. Letting the sting settle in as he grit his teeth and learned how to work his way through it.

However the small act of self-edification apparently had an adverse effect on Delta. The large metal clad man shifting a bit closer until his presence was pushing into invasive. "It's fine." Atlas snapped unprompted. Delta's slightly dipped head was question enough and even had the daddy had the voice for it, he wouldn't have needed to say anything to practically be screaming his concern.

To prove to Delta, or perhaps himself, Atlas took aim with his gun. Checking that his arm did not shake. It did. Atlas refused to acknowledge it. He could pull the trigger and all else would come with practice.

He didn't need the needle tucked into his bag.

"Lets just go and find your shadow, eh?" Atlas suggested finally, dropping the gun and tossing a glance back over his shoulder towards Delta. Finding the beast's stance to be a little unusual. Disconcerting even. Never did sit right with Atlas to see something so powerful hunched forward like it was something tiny underneath all that machinery.

The reminder of its newest chore seemed to jar Delta from that slump and the big daddy strode past Atlas this time. He held back, watching Delta meander on past with that heavy gait of his. Each step a heavy thud on Rapture's broken floor – but still lighter than the thunderous boom of a bouncer or rosie.

Delta here looked a lot like the mad beast that had chased him on Alex the lunatic's command. Atlas had to wonder if perhaps there were more parts of his memory missing than expected. He'd surely never seen a model like this before. But Delta clearly wasn't the only one for as bizarre as he was, so had Atlas's mind failed him somewhere else?

Rapture was changing. Monsters swimming around the city walls, big daddies he'd never seen before, long dead dictators and lost kids. The city was twisting into shapes he didn't recognise right before his eyes.

Those thoughts were dangerous ones and Atlas would rather not let them fester. There'd be time for self-reflection and questions later –  _much_  later. Preferably sometime when the sun was overhead and Rapture –no matter its shape - left far behind him.

Up ahead Delta paused, easy to hear when the behemoth stopped walking, and let out a low rumbling groan. Atlas didn't think before answering, "Yeah, yeah, on my way." He never even considered that wordless groan to mean anything other than 'keep up'. Keeping to his word Atlas fell into step behind Delta. Thinking that he could see the big daddy check on his position every now and then. That seemed reasonable, Delta had little reason to trust him but Atlas still thought it amusing that the machine monster thought him any kind of threat as he was now.

His pride could weep over that at a later date, for now he was rational. His condition was poor, his supplies hastily stolen and given, his baring on the current state of the world unhinged at best. Truly he wasn't any kind of threat to Delta.

It did not so much as pass his mind that maybe Delta was just keeping an eye out for him.

Cohen's Collection was, shockingly, not actually entirely Cohen. Atlas was not much of the sort for art – he wasn't entirely sure if that was an obvious part of his person or not, perhaps sitting on a few more pieces of art would really sell it – but even he knew the differences between art and….well  _Cohen's_  art.

Namely that not every piece made him want to roll his eyes till they bounced right out of his head. Cohen was so far up his own ass it was a miracle he had managed to even breathe without coughing up shit. Almost every piece of artwork he made reeked of his own self-importance and perceived grandeur.

"No wonder he and Ryan got along so swimmingly." Atlas remarked to his mute companion as they passed what must have been one of Cohen's works – had his face plastered over top of some model body. Typical. "A bit too deep in one another's pockets to actually be talking about pockets anymore, if you catch my meaning." Atlas leered, an unpleasant smirk on his face as he made the scathing comment but simultaneously tried  _not_  to think about his own meaning with every fiber of his being.

Delta's large body swayed slightly to the side as he continued walking, not sparing a glance for the work that had pulled such a comment from Atlas. If anything the giant seemed silently bemused and perhaps even a touch exasperated by the childish observations. Atlas did not wake up here to be judged by a walking toaster.

With an irritable huff Atlas marched past Delta, eager to be out of Cohen's little shrine to delusion only to find himself spotting a few other works that didn't stink of the looney fuck. Why Jack had not just bashed Cohen's brains out when given the chance was still beyond him. The change in scenery was but a small relief in a world gone to hell. But if he didn't have to see anymore of Cohen's ego stroking he'd be glad for it.

Cohen's self serving art works were gradually traded out for smaller names, ones Atlas couldn't recognise purely from lack of care to try and remember and lack of spite to force him to remember. Once upon a time this place had become a safe haven for artists that spoke out against Ryan, it had been Atlas's kind of place and yet he couldn't remember making much of a habit of visiting. Remembering hadn't been his forte in a while of course.

Despite the relief from Cohen, Atlas didn't stop to admire any. Art was a fairly unimportant sort of novelty when the ground you stood on was in the middle of sinking. He head straight to the doors that Delta had been making his way towards. Fully intending on getting to the station and then out of here. Not happy that he had to follow Sinclair's calls but more interested in getting out alive than making his displeasure known.

Except once he reached the doors, he did so alone.

Pausing Atlas realised the heavy footed steps behind him had come to a halt. Confused and suddenly on edge, Atlas's fingers tightened around his gun as he turned to seek out the cause for the delay.

Had he seen Delta hunched and prepared for a fight he wouldn't have been surprised. Hell, even if Delta hadn't been there at all, he'd have been less taken aback than turning to find the metal giant just…standing there. Silent and still with its gaze off Atlas and firmly fixated on the wall by it's side.

Cautiously Atlas stepped back away from the doors, eyes doing a quick sweep of the surrounding area, not a splicer in sight. Nothing seemed to be wrong, so why had Delta stopped?

Did big daddies have malfunctions like that? Did they freeze up like turrets or go on the fritz like the radios could? God have mercy…

"What's the hold up?" He asked, voice a little confrontational.

Delta's helmet shifted, turning slightly in his direction before returning to facing the wall. A response was good but not a comfort nor an answer. So slowly Atlas approached, trying to get a look at what was so bleedingly interesting about this wall.

Nothing. Well, nothing Atlas found any interest in beyond some dull sense of irritation. A painting. It was just a painting. "You stopped for this?" He asked, not expecting an answer. Why did he even bother speaking at this point?

Delta groaned back at him, a soft and low grumble that Atlas couldn't decipher as either dismissive of defensive. He didn't speak whale moans for christ's sake. Still Delta stared forlornly at the painting and despite himself Atlas looked as well. Trying to find what it was that had his big gun so enraptured.

The painting was beautiful he supposed. Recognised the craftsmanship and work that had gone into it. On a purely aesthetic level Atlas acknowledged it was stunning, much like one could recognise beauty in a person and not be leaping at the chance to clamber on under the sheets with them.

If there was anything about this painting that invoked emotion inside of Atlas, beside grinding frustration at the distraction of Delta, it was the subject matter.

A stunning open sky with a dying sun. The sun was bleeding out across the canvas, lighting up the painted sky with colours that just never could have been in reality. Too vibrant, too fantastical to be real life and simultaneously painted in a way that suggested it could be real. Some part of it managed to poke at Atlas's sense of homesickness. It made sense he supposed, painting the world up above in longing.

He could see why works like this one  _might_  get under Ryan's skin.

But like all things, Rapture had started to take this with it too. The paint was duller than it must have been upon completion. The only reason it had not completely ruined was the casing. Carefully pressed glass and frame keeping the painted underneath dry after the flooding. The outer wood of the frame had corroded to practically nothing, but it was little more than a cover for the metal case beneath. Someone had been very thorough with the preservation of this artwork and that may have been why it was one of the few still able to be call beautiful.

However, none of this excused Delta's pause.

"So what? That's the end game is it?" Atlas asked, voice just as clipped and callous as always. Made even more so by his biting anger. "To get yourself topside?"

Because wasn't that everyone's end game?

The words were followed by a moment of stillness and Atlas became acutely aware of how much sound Rapture made around them. The drip of leaking walls and groan of pipes as they began to give under the pressure, even the occasional crack as something within the city gave to that pressure. The whole place was decaying around them and making a show of it as it went. But Delta was still. Thinking.

Then finally Delta surprised him.

Those large gloved fingers very delicately traced along the image. Leaving the painted glow of the sun and down to the musty old frame it had been hung in. The frame seemed sturdy up until the moment Delta had taken hold of it with such firm hands.

It cracked when Delta applied pressure and Atlas jumped. A clumsy step back that had him bristling, ready to bite some angry remark should anyone have seen the fumble.

However Delta's eyeless gaze didn't move from the painting for so much as a second. Instead those powerful hands that had so easily crushed the wooden clad metal frame, the feat made no less threatening by the fact the insides of the frame were corroding, turned gentle again. Pushing away the remnants of the bottom of the frame, letting the chips and mangled metal fall away to the ground to become yet another addition to Rapture's growing mess.

The frame pulled away easily enough, leaving only a weaker, smaller wooden framework beneath. Three layers, Atlas was beginning to think this artist was not so much careful with their preservation as they were insane. Well, they had been in good company down here in Rapture at least.

Atlas had not reclaimed the step he'd mistakenly taken back, it didn't even occur to him until Delta's large shoulders pulled back slightly, looking back at him as best he could with the limited flexibility. Beckoning him forward with a little lift of his hands and the painting he now held carefully so as not to damage it as he had the outer frame. Cautiously Atlas crept forward, not sure what he was supposed to be getting from all this.

Looking down at the canvas in Delta's hands, Atlas found himself rather underwhelmed. The artist had marked his work with his name. Standard enough.

The painted name was as beautiful as it was illegible. Artists, bunch of lunatics, always putting aesthetic above practicality. Atlas didn't think he could have made heads or tails of this, barely seemed to be English with the way the letters curved and ran together with no clear shape. Fucking impossible to decipher – but pretty.

He'd been so bogged down in trying to make sense of what the warped letters were supposed to say, that for a moment Atlas failed to understand why they were looking at it to begin with.

Why would Delta show him some dead artist's old pen name?

Perhaps Rapture had done more of a number on him than he'd realised, because it took Atlas longer than it should have to recognise Delta's behaviour for what it was. He wasn't looking at the painting because he longed for the sun or the open blue skies it had depicted in a vibrant albeit slightly fantastical style. No. He was looking at the painting because of the  _artist_  that made it.

This was sentiment; it was Delta feeling an  _emotion_.

It was mourning.

Slowly Atlas's gaze slipped back up to Delta, as if now of all times the mask might give him something to go off of. As if suddenly there'd be expression and emotion printed across the murky glass. But as always there was nothing.

It put all the weight of trying to understand onto Atlas and hadn't he already had enough weight on his shoulders? Emotion had never been his forte, even before Rapture had pulled all softness from him he'd never been the best at it. In days gone by he'd have been able to push it off to someone else, brush off emotion with a careless smile and offer of a drink or just turn the other way.

There was nowhere to turn now and he had to meet Delta's emotions head on. That or risk pushing away the only person he had on his side.

"Friend of yours…?" He ventured finally. Voice caught between sympathy, uncertainty and some deeply life weary feeling. As though he were moments away from chiding Delta from caring at all in the first place. Everyone was dead. What point was there in stopping to stare at their remains?

Atlas did not let himself think about the submarine.

Delta had no means to answer properly and so slowly turned his head back, staring down at the painting and the delicately printed letters he glided his thumb over. Silent.

The quiet allowed Rapture to come leaking in again. The drip of water, the crumbling of collapsing art and the crack of straining glass.

The silence was too loud and so Atlas broke it.

"This ain't no place to mourn lost friends." The words remained harsh and Atlas knew he should have softened the words. But he was driven by anger. Hot and seething as it boiled under his skin, pushing him away from Delta and the painting of some lost person he mad known.

He managed to get no more that five steps away from the memento that must have meant something to the man Delta had once been before stopping. Hands clenched by his sides and teeth grit. They had no time for reminiscing, Sinclair would have barked just as much had he been speaking in that moment, they had no time for emotions to get in the way of survival.

Around him Atlas continued to drip, creak and crack. It felt oppressive, knowing the city was closing in around them and would soon swallow them whole. Rapture had taken almost everything already, now it came to snatch up what little was left as it sank. There was no time for friends or regrets or mourning.

And yet Atlas had still stopped.

The thought that the man Delta had once been had found the ghost of someone they knew hit a little too close to home for Atlas although he tried not to let it hit at all.

It was strange to think about it, but there was still that man in there wasn't there?

Atlas looked at Delta, peered back at him like he might somehow be able to see through all that metal and ADAM to find the man he'd once been inside. Some poor sod ripped apart and stitched back together to Ryan's liking to produce more ADAM. The whole cycle focused on the blasted stuff.

But Delta was a different sort of beast to the others wasn't he? There was still a thinking man in there. How much of that man was left Atlas couldn't say, but surely it was more than the soullessness of the others.

Despite himself, or perhaps purely to spite himself, Atlas's mind threw up the moments Delta had knelt before him. Hands out to break his fall or to offer medical assistance and supplies. Yeah. It was a thinking man in there and likely one still somehow kinder than he managed to be.

Scowling vicious holes into the damp floor under his filth crusted boots. Atlas cursed himself. Cursed himself, then Ryan, then Rapture, then himself again just for good measure before finally turning on Delta, as though he were the one that deserved to be cursed. "Bring the bleeding thing over here, will ya?" He demanded, making a sharp gesture with his hands for Delta to bring himself and the painting over.

Delta jolted, going from stock still to animated in record time. Like a child the massive man approached him, holding the mostly broken painting over to Atlas like he was afraid Atlas meant to scold him for something. His short tone might have given that impression, but it wasn't Delta that Atlas wanted to growl at. He waited, impatient, until Delta brought the painting over and tentatively held it out to him.

Taking it from Delta was easy, but the man was less passive when Atlas cracked the frame over his knee.

The sound Delta made was close to a shout, something angry and distressed as it came out of the big daddy suit in a loud bellow. The sound caused Atlas to properly jump that time, taking a good four steps back as Delta lifted his drill a few too many inches up, anymore and Atlas was sure it would start to spin.

His heart was racing, a cold sweat breaking out across his body. He never stopped being aware of how easily Delta could crush his skull should the desire arise. To the effect of not being skewered on that drill, Atlas hastily rouse his hand in a gesture of pacification. "Easy, big guy." He urged, voice becoming cautious and soft. Talking down a man with a gun. "Easy…just needed to get the framework out of the way." He assured.

When the drill did not immediately power up, Atlas continued. Slower this time. Letting Delta see each action. He was more careful this time, realising how costly his usual insensitive attitude could be when handling something Delta showed care for. Cautiously Atlas pulled away the remains of the frame, being sure not to tear the canvas underneath. Just as well it was soft and malleable or Atlas never would have even considered doing this.

Once the artwork was free of its constraints, Atlas held it up to Delta again, just to prove he'd done no more harm. "Not bad, eh?" He ventured, trying to gauge how angry the big daddy was. Impassive. Well it was better than furious.

Going on Atlas began to roll the material up. Taking the most care with the area that had the artist's name – or he assumed it was a name, hard to tell what the elegant squiggle was supposed to be. Then once it was tightly rolled and Atlas was satisfied he'd kept the smudging predominantly to the underside of the canvas, he dropped his bag to the floor and took a knee by it. Looking around inside while remaining highly aware of Delta's gaze on him.

What he wouldn't have given for an elastic band right then. Instead he had no choice but to use string. The string was barely long enough to even loop around the rolled up painting. It looked like it had been torn from the lining of the bag, some feeble, pathetic bit of string, but when wrapped around the painting twice and tied correctly, it held and it would have to do.

Satisfied and with no small amount of pride, Atlas presented the finished product to Delta. "Well?" Atlas demanded, a smirk plastered on his face. "Feel like a right dick for growling at me, yeah?" While he crowed on about his smug superiority, Atlas missed the wall Delta's broad shoulders sank. A sigh if ever a big daddy could.

The former revolutionary was mid boast when Delta reached out and ruffled his hair. The rough drag of coarse gloves through his hair shut Atlas up right fast, the Irishman sputtered and reached up to grab at Delta's hand, only realising once he had what it was the beast was doing. Shocked into stillness Atlas blinked blindly down at the ground, one hand limply hanging onto Delta's wrist and the other still holding his good word.

Delta was unruffled by his response and only finished properly messing his hair up, only to make some halfhearted effort to smooth it back down right. Then Delta took the bound painting from Atlas, pausing to stare down at the fragile piece of parchment. He treated it carefully, held the artwork with the same care he would have afforded to Atlas or the girls.

They all had fragments of the past in their heads, but this was a physical fragment and apparently to Delta it meant a world more than Atlas could begin to guess.

After a second spent simply holding the painting, Delta then took Atlas's bag into hand. Immediately Atlas moved to protest, that was his! But he bit down the immediate angry response, knowing Delta's slow deliberate motions were not ones intended to snatch what little he had. Instead he watched as Delta found a spot he thought was safest inside of Atlas's bag and placed the painting.

Both knew it would likely not survive through rapture, its chances of survival even more dismal than their own – but still Delta took that chance and left it in Atlas's care.

The bag offered back, Delta turned away and began to walk towards the booth they'd initially set out for.

Atlas stood there a moment longer. The bag strap in his hand seemed a bit heavier than before, more so than it should have with only a scrap of paper added to its contents. Still he stayed there, staring down at the worn bag and wondered if it was worth having done what he did.

It wasn't going to make skin and blood of ghosts.

This time when Delta groaned back at him, Atlas didn't answer but turned to follow all the same. Keep up, Delta meant and Atlas followed with only a growl of irritation as he tried to fix the mess Delta had made of his hair. The call was somehow a mercy, a little lifeline for where his thoughts might have gone if left unchecked.

Suddenly doing chores for Sinclair didn't seem so bad.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Had to cut this chapter short. Sorry.

Despite his silence, Sinclair was keeping a fairly close eye on Atlas and Delta. Tenebaum's rather emotional reaction to the former revolutionary had sparked old curiosities inside of him. He found that curiosity still came with a hefty dose of caution attached.

So he kept a distance and observed.

What he'd seen from their brief interactions gave him a different cause for unease.

He'd long since adjusted to the mindset of Delta being a real person. A person with too many little liabilities and character pitfalls. Most of which came in the form of basic human decency. Sinclair had never placed much stock into that particular market.

But Delta had warmed to the man so quickly. It was not quite the unquestioning devotion he handed to the little sisters but it was not far off either. He made sure to garner a small sense of amusement from knowing Atlas was essentially being treated like some overgrown brat.

Again Sinclair had to remind himself that while spite could be quite the motivator and entertainer – it was a bit of a distraction.

Thinking back on it, Atlas had been quite lucrative business partner as well as a risky one. The big players always were.

Fontaine, Ryan, Atlas, all of them at one another's throats and each threatening to sink him if the other overstepped. Sinclair had managed to dance between all with nary a scratch – that was until Lamb took it al out from under him.

He could escape unscathed after telling Ryan right to his face that he ought to have those kinks in his brain worked out but couldn't manage one philanthropic lunatic cult leader.

Admittedly, at the time of that passing comment to Ryan, he hadn't quite been himself. No love for the hoosie he had choked the life from, sure. But it was a rather tasteless act even to him. To kill a woman so smitten with him.

If he were an honest man – and he rarely was by the sake of his business – Sinclair might have admitted that his disdain from the act was rather self-serving and wholly divided. No one fancied the ugly feelings that occasionally took them by surprise as they twisted in their chest. Feelings like jealousy towards a woman whom had never once known her part in bringing his envy onto her.

Jasmine Jolene had never been the brightest spark, but she was beautiful, and Sinclair couldn't fault the blonde bombshell for attracting eyes that never quite landed on him in earnest.

Sinclair pulled his fingers through his hair again and willed away the old ghosts in his memories. Wishing that the dead might sink a little lower into hell and leave him be for a change.

Although some of the dead never quite got that far into the depths, he was watching Atlas as evidence of that. Keeping an eye on both the kid and Tenebaum became quite the juggling act, but he always knew when the doctor approached. Her footsteps never stuttering, each step a confident and purposeful stride. Her own ghosts didn't seem to nip at her heels as Sinclair's did his and she arguably had more to fear than he.

Steely woman he'd admit with reluctant admiration, still she gave him the creeps. Idly he thought back to the day he'd let her go from his employ and unknowingly passed her along to Fontaine's clutches. No one could fault him for that; it was bad business to keep around a broad that would stick a needle in a man's crown jewels without so much as a word of warning. For science, was an excuse that only went so far, and most men drew the line at their future children.

When those familiar footfalls came into his cart again Sinclair didn't acknowledge her. Sore eyes remaining fixed on his screens as he knew hers were. She craned over his shoulder and Sinclair bit his tongue, better not to waste energy trying to teach an old dog manners.

While he kept a close eye on Atlas and Delta's progress, Tenebaum kept one closer and it focused solely on Atlas. What she was looking for Sinclair couldn't say, and she hadn't deemed it lucrative to clue him in to what was going on in her head just yet. Even though he'd gone from subtly probing to flat out asking at times. She held her cards close to her chest and again he could find no way to fault her for that – he was much the same.

"They approach the booth?" She asked though she could absolutely see for herself that they were. "Why the distraction?"

"Chief found himself a pretty picture, fancied it I suppose. A man of great taste our Delta." Sinclair mused, an edge of mocking to his words.

Truthfully, he wondered himself what had possessed Delta to take that picture. Even if it was Atlas that bound it up for him, it was Delta who had wanted it.

Again, Sinclair thought, he'd long since come around to thinking of Delta as a real human. But for the first time he began to wonder _which_ human he was. His stomach churned and he felt a little chill rush through his veins. After all there were many former humans out there that had passed through his hands and into Ryan's.

Apparently not a single ghost to his name was going to properly stay forcefully forgotten. Soon enough he'd have banshees on his tail if this kept up.

It was the thoughts of restless undead that caused Sinclair to flinch when Tenebaum spoke again. Voice as flat and business like as always. Though this time it came with a sharper edge. "Something is not right."

Sinclair cast a wary look in the German woman's direction. "Something not right in Rapture? Alert the press." Perhaps that was a little dry of him, but Sinclair thought it acceptable that his patience be stretched a touch thin after being stuck down here for so many years.

Still, the old bat had a point.

Over the radio Sinclair occasionally caught a voice. Then another and then another. But they saw only one shadow in that booth. To say it was disconcerting was an understatement. "It's not as though those splicers aren't the sort to hold merry conversations with no one besides their reflection." He ventured, supplying what was surely a sound solution. Only in Rapture was a lunatic raving back and forth to himself or herself a comforting explanation.

Regardless Tenebaum took up the radio to alert Delta to the perceived threat. "Herr Delta, something is not right. We can hear many voices outside the train car, but...but we see no one. Und the music grows louder...can you hear it?"

On the screen Delta halted, cocked his head to the side and listened. He must have heard it too because once he began to walk again he called Atlas a little closer to his side. This time Sinclair couldn't muster up the amusement he had before. His attention firmly held by the music that grew louder through their speakers.

"I know that diddy." He announced, the words slipping out without too much forethought and then begrudgingly he continued, feeling it would look foolish if he stopped with only that. "One of Tate's ol' favourites." He supplied with a faint frown.

Yeah, he remembered that one, it was the last he'd heard and the last time he'd visited Tate's parties.

Right before the whole thing had taken those few steps too far into the plasmid business. Tate had a particularly interesting brand of ADAM, a special concoction all her own. It had gotten on every nerve Fontaine had when she'd made it, having acquired the right to coin a particular ADAM product for her parties and then warped it into something else that Fontaine wasn't able to replicate. Sinclair distantly recalled how the pretty lady he'd attended with had snarled at Ava-Tate on Fontaine's behalf. Ryan, unsurprisingly, had supported miss Tate in this venture.

Sinclair never had stuck around splicers where he could help it, even in the early days. Naturally he'd dropped away from those parties when they began to become a different kind of messy. When the most common bodily fluid in one of Ava-Tate's parties was blood and not something a little less predictable, it was time to call it quits.

A pity, the parties really had been something before ADAM got involved.

The music grew louder, and Sinclair began to wonder _why_ it was playing. Ava Tate's parties had been very abruptly brought to a halt a good long time ago.

It was eerie in a way. Rapture was an unpleasant place now days but hearing something so _lively_ ringing out through the decaying halls carried with it a particular wrongness. The violent swing of the beat a memory of a time where the lights burned bright and up on stage an angel voiced bitch entertained and conjured up pleasant dreams for the men in attendance to last for week's worth of cold nights.

The music had no place in Rapture as it was now. Who was still playing it?

Sinclair watched and listened as Delta approached the booth, though he did his best to tune out the song that got louder with every step.

Then a voice, a familiar one, came ringing out in a nervous excited babble.

"Jeez-oh-man, I...I recognise you! _You're Johnny Topside_!"

Sinclair tensed.

"You're that explorer from the surface who found Rapture all on your own!" Sinclair then froze. "Wow! Well listen, the name's Stanley. Just you come on over to the Triton Theatre, Johnny." Sinclair then paled.

"The truth awaits you!"

Sinclair then looked to replace the truth with _a_ truth.

Already his mind worked. After it had caught on that moment of numbing alarm, it began to buzz again. Hastily looking for solutions before the problem truly had a chance to arise.

With lies he weaved and truths he could twist. A need for survival rose in him again and the words began to fit into place quickly. A silver tongue and a salesman's moral integrity, he looked for the right mixture of truth and lie to sell whatever he needed to.

The kid couldn't know.

 _Jonny_ couldn't know.

But a weight formed in Sinclair's gut through all his rationalising as he understood now why the kid had stopped to look at that painting.

Sinclair was at every ghost's mercy surely enough, but it seemed not all ghosts that came back were purely in memory and memento.

 

…

…

 

Atlas listened to the shaky, over-excited chatterings through the radio as his eyes watched the shadow through murky glass move about. Each movement a perfect match to the jittery nature of the voice talking at them.

Needless to say, the expression on his face one of displeasure. Thoroughly unimpressed with the fidgety fool on the other end. The name _Stanley_ rang a bell but like many others he thought he ought to know the face and meaning behind it remained just a little out of his reach.

Granted, he wasn't trying particularly hard to conjured either of those things up for the moment. Far more focused on the other name he'd heard.

Tipping his head to the side Atlas eyed Delta and tried the new name Stanley had slapped onto him on for size. Now Jonny Topside was not a story that went missed or forgotten in Rapture so easily. Plenty of folk thought him a legend. Not hard to see why when Ryan had him whisked off so quickly.

But Atlas had seen him.

Tall young chap moseying on around Rapture without a care and with about as much brains on him as a teenager. Not to say he had _no_ brains, but his naivety made him dangerously daft. More interested in sightseeing than hiding.

He knew the sort, heart of gold and not enough sense to know the rest of the world weren't so kind. Poor kid, didn't know what he'd gotten into until Ryan came down on him like a bat out of hell.

Atlas knew his type a little too well actually. Reminded him a bit of his Jack now he thought of it.

"Topside?" Atlas ventured slowly, in no mad rush to get to the theatre though he knew they should have been. It felt important in a way and Atlas knew he must have been projecting to think the discovery of self was so blasted essential.

Delta couldn't answer with words, but Atlas expected some form of confirmation or denial all the same. He got the usual back and forth sway of the big daddies form. But he noticed with some uneasy that this time Delta's stance seemed almost…dazed. As though it were the weight of more than just the drill he was balancing.

Just on cue the radio at his hip came sparking into life.

"Johnny Topside?" Sinclair's amazed voice came through. "Hold the music, I remember that story...kid, that was you?"

It was exactly what Atlas had been about to ask, more or less. Except…something felt off.

If asked, Atlas couldn't have told a soul what it was that raised his heckles. Sinclair's question was an innocent one of curiosity and genuine astonishment – how often was it a near legend ended up on your metaphorical pay role when they were expected to be dead?

Well for Sinclair this had become something a streak in that department.

But something about it was wrong.

Even as Sinclair went on. Explaining the origin of the nickname, knowing the real name of the legend never that important as Atlas could attest, something rubbed him all wrong. He listened to the story he already knew told back to him. The man that found Rapture in a diving bell. The rumours of his simple, careless waltz through an airlock and the week spend seeing sights before his eventual capture and questioning.

He knew the story. He knew it as easily as if it had been taught to him from birth like a child's nursery rhythm.

And it was wrong _._

Sinclair's words were _wrong_.

As if somewhere along the way the story had warped, changed its pace and shape. Not unlike how those same children's stories evolved over time. Passing from person to person until they were no longer recognisable as that original fairytale.

Something in this tale had been switched or untold and Atlas could only think it was the doing of the storyteller.

However, he couldn't place what had changed or why it'd been changed in the first place. More to the point he had absolutely no purpose to believe as such.

But just like Stanley's name – it felt like a memory just out of reach.

 _Unlike_ Stanley – this one felt significant.

It may have been because the man of legend was literally standing by his shoulder that it felt more vital to Atlas then.

Privately his gaze narrowed onto the radio, as though his scowling could reach through to Sinclair himself. To let him know Atlas found something wrong in his words, to promise he'd know why.

Unawares of his scrutiniser, Sinclair went on. "Our boy there's locked up good an tight in the projection booth. _And_ he sounds like he's gone ten kindsa loopy." Not that this was such a surprise. Welcome to Rapture. Sinclair went on with a tone of slightly exasperation. "I…think you're just gonna have to play along to get the override key."

Delta moved. As though Sinclair's suggestion had given him cause for movement again and while unrightfully harsh anger rose in Atlas, so did a spike of that familiar nostalgia. He'd once spoken and given direction in the past and Jack had followed just as trustingly. More reluctant than his big daddy cohort, Atlas followed along.

In order to reach the theatre, they had to pass through the atrium connecting large sections of the park. Atlas wasn't going to pause to take in any sights naturally, but as the doors to the connecting space opened up, revealing the derelict remains of the carousel he was given reason for pause.

The park had boasted one of the most ridiculous sights in all of Rapture, but it had been a beautiful glowing radiant golds and reds as it spun in its prime.

Now it sat in silence, rusted and in ruins. Atlas approached, having no other choice but to do so in order to pass by its mass and into the theater. He'd have given it a wide birth had Delta not strode right past it. If he avoided it too obviously it would seem strange behaviour on his part.

And it _was_ strange.

He had no reason to be so averse to standing near the old amusement park ride. But the closer he got the more his skin began to prickle and in the back of his mind he swore he heard laughter. Light, feminine and wholly unwelcome in his mind. If he looked to the corner of his eye Atlas swore he saw a light or two, as though the old carousel had a bit of life left in it and was waiting for someone to just give it a little nudge.

His skin was crawling. Every step he took towards it was another he wished to take back and he tensed as he walked past. In his mind he imagined hands reaching for him by no will of his own. Long stretching limbs that would wide around him and drag him down towards the carousel. Still laughing.

All those knocks to the head were making him delusional. There were no hands, no lights, no laughter. Just Rapture crumbling bit by bit around them.

Yet he didn't dare take a breath as he passed the carousel. He vaguely remembered someone telling him a long time ago that it was best to hold your breath when passing a grave least the ghosts try to pry their way in with the air you swallowed.

This was no grave, but it carried the same unease as though it were. He didn't believe in such nonsensical superstitions. Scoffed at those who did and occasionally amused himself with little trinkets designed to bring good luck, never once buying into them. Providence had no place with him.

Despite this, he might have started to believe in ghosts and Atlas's breath remained in his chest.

He knew without a doubt that something was wrong with him. There was nothing truly wrong with this construction and the reason it made him so uncomfortable had to be one born somewhere in his own head. Somewhere under all those blows he'd taken and amid his missing memories.

Knowing that made passing the carousel no less unsettling and he firmly stuck to Delta's heels until they'd passed its looming frame. Delta had not so much as taken a second glance, or if he had the helmet obscured the action.

Instead the quiet giant took Atlas past the carousel and into the theatre. It was little better, having faired the brief spell underwater about as well as the rest of the park.

Passing into the theatre itself was more of a visual joy than the grand entrance had ever been in its prime. The old neon and spotlights all busted and broke as the water life took over. Life that was infused with so much ADAM it glowed. Atlas looked over the orange plant life, noting it to be just the same luminous flora as the blood flowers he'd seen in Alex's little den. The lights bounced off the ruined beams that still managed to keep the entranceway firm and open and despite himself Atlas found the lights to be softer and more natural than the old fanfare had been.

As much as he loathed admitting it, technically speaking, ADAM _was_ natural.

It was just that everything they sought to create with it for themselves was not. Nature was an irrepressible beast and humans, quite a presumptuous one.

Delta took the lead, slow but confident in his stride as he passed through the once greeting doors and into the shell of what had been the park's show ground.

Smaller than its competitor and spiritual rival, Fleet Hall, but packed with far more genuine flare than Cohen could have mustered in his pinky. He'd have cut off a thousand other's hands just to try and add to what he lacked. But the Fleet Hall had survived better than this. Atlas didn't have eyes in the loon's little shrine to pretentiousness, but he knew how firmly it had stood.

However, eight years had passed, and he wondered if it were still so bleedingly pristine. By Rapture's standards that was.

Fleet Hall was all sharp blues and whites under those rotting walls, but this place was nothing like that. It shone red even in its decay.

Atlas crept inside, gun clutched close to his side as he looked around. The walls remained illuminated with the scattered glowing coral and flowers, a few of the old lights seemed to be working as well and they were just as crimson in their hue.

And there was music.

Quiet and muffled, floating through the air from up ahead, a different tune to the one that had lead them to Stanley. Softer. A slow dance sort of music. Hadn't been in high demand of the theatre back in its working days. More likely to run around a Cohen and Ava-Tate production that was either too outlandishly ludicrous – that is to say so far up their ass they couldn't hear themselves speak – or dedicated to stroking Ryan through another undeserved sound of self-grandeur.

They both heard the music and while Atlas was inclined to let sleeping dogs lie, Delta did not seem to share his survival instinct. " _Delta_." Atlas hissed the big daddy's name sharply. As if chiding a dog or wayward child that was wandering a little too close to some venomous creature. "Delta, get back here." He insisted, remaining slightly crouched as he tried to call the man back to him.

He'd been spoiled with Jack it seemed because Delta had no problems ignoring his demands.

To the metal suited man's credit, he _did_ pause. Stopped to look back at Atlas and then towards the source of the music.

They didn't need to investigate that. The theatre section of this establishment was the door opposite the one where the music was loudest. There was no need to go in there when Stanley called them to the other.

Yet Delta was curious. Perhaps he thought it better to clear the area, make sure it was safe to linger here as long as they could, or maybe he just like the tune – fuck if Atlas knew one way or the other.

With not nearly as much caution as Atlas would have advised – that is to say, enough to turn the other way – Delta approached the door. It still alarmed Atlas how gently the giant could move and interact with things. Gloved fingers carefully sliding past the door and inching it open enough to see inside without bringing too much attention onto himself.

For a moment he looked. No sound or reaction. The second trickled on into the next and then the next until Atlas's patience broke and he crept up behind Delta. What was so damn interesting in there? Atlas could easily see through the gap in the door Delta provided.

Inside the lounge, a small fancy joint that had once been used to hawk overpriced finger food and cheap wine to movie goers, the music was coming from an old duke box. The lounge was dark, almost all the light inside coming from the large open windows letting in Rapture's glowing cityscape.

All except for one solitary light that stayed on, shining a glowing circle onto the old floor.

There, two people danced.

Atlas paused, momentarily taken aback by such a simple thing. The two moved slowly back and forth, barely dancing at all, just a gentle sway that only vaguely followed the music's pace. It was surreal. Such a nonviolent sight in Rapture. Damn near one of _affection_.

But Atlas knew those tattered clothes. A familiar mask of twigs and the shine of an old meat hook dangling from the woman's side, just narrowly avoiding brushing her partner's leg.

"Splicers." Atlas whispered to Delta and stepped away.

He'd had been happy to leave well enough alone but now he'd seen them and knew the threat was there. He was no fan of spider splicers and even less fond of houdinis. His burned arm throbbed painfully. The other hand lifted his gun.

Catching the steely set of Atlas's shoulders and the grim expression, Delta guessed his intentions and before Atlas could take the first step forward the gentle giant stopped him.

It was little more than an arm held out in his path and a steadying look. Again, Atlas was unsure as to how such a blank mask could muster a look that so sternly said _'no'._

Indignant and genuinely at a loss, Atlas stare flicked between Delta and his hand twice over. _Why the fuck not?_ His expression screamed right back before his tongue could get to it. But Delta only quietly closed the door again and began to walk away. An unspoken command that Atlas follow.

He did follow, but did not do so silently, having a few too many heated thoughts to keep each on strictly to himself. "Did ya fail to get a good look at that?" Atlas hissed, voice still lowered though he didn't do so consciously. As if now made aware of the couple so close put a firm volume lock on his voice. To be cautious.

Delta couldn't speak. He _knew_ this, and yet when the large man stopped and turned back to him with little more than a quiet, typical droning groan, Atlas could have sworn he'd magically learnt the unfucking scripted secret language of big daddies.

To him at least, Delta's level gaze simply stated. _'They're dancing, leave them be. Do not be so heartless.'_

Insult was likely not Delta's intent, but Atlas bristled as if it had been. "They're splicers!" He shot the reminder right back in a vehement snarl.

Did Delta forget what that _meant?_ The absolute second they stopped that little swing in the lounge they'd have it out for blood. Theirs specifically. That was if the two didn't tear each other apart as an end to the dance. Splicers were barely human, just random acts of violence and craving to keep them going.

But Delta was steadfast, continuing to give Atlas that silent, lingering stare. Yet again, Atlas thought he understood. This time he didn't get angry. How could he when Delta so calmly looked down at his arms and without seeking permission grabbed one of them?

Atlas tensed and bit down a shout that would have no doubt given their position away, allowing Delta to raise his arm. Blessedly it was not the burnt limb, but it almost felt like Delta froze this one when one of those large, unrightfully gentle, thumbs brushed across his skin.

Following one of his scar's paths down to the dip in his wrist.

Atlas felt as though he'd taken a physical blow.

Staring down at the spot where the veiny scar and Delta's thumb met. Ice spreading up along his body from that point, chasing his scars up his arm to his neck. Leaving him chilled to his core.

' _They're splicers!'_ His mind screamed back at him and Atlas recoiled. Jerking his arm back violently. He was only allowed to break free because Delta did not try to hold him there.

"Keep your bloody fucking hands to yourself." Atlas bit out in a venomous snarl.

Turning away from Delta and stalking off. In the other direction of the lounge. So much as thinking of the lounge now made him feel unwell, he'd ignore it. Instead focusing on the theatre. He was foolish, not nearly as careful as he ought to have been as he forced the doors open with more violence than he needed to.

Ever aware of Delta's eyeless gaze and gradual footsteps following behind him.

He wasn't a splicer. Wasn't an addict. He wasn't like those things. He was a real fucking person and the splicers barely even cut it as corpses still walking around like they had some life left.

They weren't human anymore, _he was._


	9. Chapter 9

Still fuelled by the anger rushing hot through his veins, Atlas strode into the theatre.

Not even able to muster up surprise under his severely trodden on nerves when it seemed to have survived the worst of the flooding. At least everything above the ground floor. Atlas could follow the perfect ring that signalled where the water level had reached around the whole theatre. A sudden, sharp break from the unpleasant green rot left behind by being submerged. The upper half of the theatre had been spared the water damage, but not the degeneration of time.

Under foot the still thoroughly saturated floor let out a wet squelch when Atlas stepped on it. A disgusted sneer briefly flashed across his face and Atlas almost took the step back till he felt Delta at his back and stubbornly continued forward towards the theatre stage.

Once Delta's heavy steps had pressed into the soggy carpet Atlas noticed that Delta's pace was somehow quieter a splash than his own had been. Delta's boots were heavy but broad, dispersing the sound, making it far less startling a sound. It helped too that Delta was walking while Atlas stomped.

It was only then that Stanley opted to grace them with his near manic chatter again.

Or rather chose to address Delta, as though Atlas was a footnote.

"Now, take a seat, Johnny." Stanley suggested eagerly, like he thought he might somehow make Delta more comfortable and more inclined to think well of him.

In response Delta only turned slightly towards the rows of audience seats. Even had they not been in such disrepair it was clear Delta could not sit in them. So fragile and breakable when compared to his hefty size. Delta stared mutely at the seats offered for a few awkward seconds and Atlas snorted quietly. Unable to help himself though he hastily returned to his scowling before Delta could think his bad mood had lifted. It had not.

No matter how amusing it was to see Delta staring so blankly at the offered seat.

Hastily Stanley spoke again, realising his error. "—or, or, or stand, standing is fine. It's uh, more heroic, I guess."

Atlas cringed, lips tugging down in an unpleasant sneer. Fans, just what they fucking needed. He distantly recalled having a few of his own back in the day. It seemed less charming now than it had before and truthfully it hadn't held much charm to begin with.

"Not to kill the marvellous grovelling we seem to have going – but you got something you want to fucking share with us?" Atlas asked sharply, glaring upwards. As though that were the source of the chatter rather than the booth they'd left behind.

Stanley sounded like he really had forgotten he was there until he spoke. "A-Atlas." He stuttered, perhaps not above a bit of awe of another big name in Rapture, though Atlas got the idea he was no great admirer of his. "I- ah. Yes, yes of course! I wouldn't waste Mr. Topside's time!" He was not going to laugh at that, _Mr. Topside_. He was not done being angry. "Right…right. I got something to show you! Now, just take a good hard look at this!"

Atlas jumped, feet making another wet sound of impact as he did when the otherwise fairly well-lit theatre lapsed into darkness. Instinctively he lifted his gun, awaiting a trap that just didn't come. Instead the room burst into light again, bright and focused. The screen ahead of them lit up.

Bleeding hell…The theatre still worked!

Before Atlas was able to wrap his brain around that, an old film threw up on the screen. One he recognised.

There was Jonny.

A whole and perfectly normal human, still obliviously walking through Rapture. The boy looked so _young_ up there now. He still towered over the other passersby who stopped to whisper amongst themselves upon seeing him. He was a firm, broad shouldered youth. A mop of thick hair he seemed to have at least tried to comb. Couldn't tell through the grainy screen but Atlas vaguely remembered the kid having a bit of a notable colour to his hair. Something nearly red, dark but definitely not brown. Made Atlas wonder how much of his own countries blood the kid had running through him.

The video seemed to have struck them both a little harshly. Seeing Jonny so _normal_. Peering through the windows of Rapture's finest businesses to see the oddities of an underwater society. Some stupid, beaming smile on his face. So excited to see the sights – never knowing he was being recorded and carefully sized up.

All to end up shipped off by Ryan and eventually stuffed into an iron suit.

Despite the insult Atlas still truly felt from their earlier interaction, he risked a look over at the silent giant behind him. Delta was looking at the screen, not a sound out of him. Then slowly approached, passing Atlas who didn't dare take a step between him and that screen.

He wondered…did Delta remember any of this? How much of the kid on that screen was still left in his head?

Hopefully a little more than Atlas remembered of himself.

And Stanley spoke. Good lord did the man _speak_. "See that? That's you!" He crowed, as though they didn't already know. "Now, do you see what they did? They just erased you from Rapture history, Johnny, like you never found us at all! And they dragged you away to some spy d-d-dungeon without so much as a howdy-do!"

Delta still walked, as though he wasn't hearing Stanley at all. Stopping only when his waist hit the stage. Still staring. Still silent.

Maybe he really couldn't hear Stanley, but Atlas could. He listened and did all the thinking for him. "And do you know who's responsible? Well sir, I'll tell you. _Ava-Marie Tate._ That's right. Andrew Ryan's B-Baroness of Bullpucky."

Tate? That seemed an odd person to blame. But Atlas did know Ryan had her right and good under his thumb. It would not be strange that she'd do shady things for him. Her and Cohen might have snapped and snarled at once another but they were beasts of the same nature, begging at Ryan's heels.

Stanley's stammering went on without Delta's input. "That's uh...that's all I've got so far. B-But I can learn more, we both can! I just need a bit of help from you…"

Of course he did. Atlas scowled, he hated feeling like an errand boy…but he had a feeling Delta might not mind. Especially if he got some closure.

If someone had come to him with promises of answers…he'd have likely taken them up on it. He couldn't very well refuse Delta the same opportunity.

"Now for the kicker. T-The harpy herself is still throwing parties around here! You wouldn't believe the kind of sick, _sick_ things they do there! They know my face in there, and already gave me the boot! But you — if you sneak in and use that camera of yours to capture the scandal, I can expose Ava once and for all!"

Atlas didn't think there were any parties still going on in Rapture. None that were any fun for the every man at least. A gathering of splicers did not sound like his idea of a fun time. He had a refusal bubbling up in his throat immediately but bit it back down. Needing to think about the long game rather than the short-term anger.

Finally he approached Delta. The flicker of his former image still on the screen. Despite himself, Atlas couldn't seem to muster up the anger he had before. Not when Delta stood so still and silent in front of a memory.

"Hey." Atlas's voice was firm but softer than he usually allowed. "Jonny." No answer.

Atlas steeled himself and tried again. "Delta."

Gradually Delta turned away from the screen looking down towards Atlas. Maybe truly hearing what was being said for the first time since that reel began to spin. It was not much of a reaction to go off, but it was a reaction at the very least.

The Irish revolutionary didn't speak any further. Just looked right back. The guy never said a word but seemed to get his intent through to Atlas with ease. He tried to do the same, too proud to say the words aloud. He hoped Delta would get the idea behind his stare, the well intent he had despite his foul mood.

If answers were what he wanted, Atlas would support him.

And hoped if at some point he needed that support in return Delta would do just the same.

The seconds trickled by before finally Delta gave that slight inclination of his helmet. A small gesture of understanding. Perhaps also one of thanks.

Satisfied, Atlas looked back to the flickering scree, speaking to Stanley. Atlas used his words to express Delta's agreement for the mute man. "Fine, you got our attention. Where is this little shindig being held?"

And he hoped to god he had enough bullets and sanity left for this errand.

Stanley's voice somehow became even less composed once he knew he had the ever generous aid of his apparent idol – that is to say Delta, not Atlas. "W-Well! The price of admission to Ava's show for the debauched is a jab to a man's morals." That was not a location and Atlas decidedly did not like where Stanley was going with the train of thought. "And it looks like Ava's guests are…are _hiding_ , Jonny. Won't let you in or come out unless you show them you're on the level! I-I know you're not, of course! But…well you You gotta trick them into thinking you're one of them!"

On the level. One of them.

Given all Atlas knew about the way those parties had started to swing – those were two things he had no business being involved in. Already his expression was twisting into something unpleasant through Stanley's ramblings, turning darker with each clumsy word. But then the projector cut off sharply and rather than bring the room back to life with some light, they were given a single spotlight.

He hadn't seen it at first, too focused on the reel being played up before them, but there was a small tray sitting centre stage. A silver platter that gleamed under the spotlight just a touch too brightly to be an easy thing to set eyes on. But Atlas didn't look away, seeing the items on the tray and feeling the glower he'd been working up drop right off his face. Expression one of genuine bewilderment, the disgust would catch back up given enough time.

"See those party favours they've left out in the open? Go ahead...use one-" Stanley's lunacy got no further than that.

"You taking me for a spin?" Atlas shouted back in snarl of disbelief. "You had better be or I'm going to head right back to the booth and pry the doors open myself!"

The loopy bastard had the good sense to sound intimidated by the furious word Atlas tossed his way, but no less determined to see this insanity through to its undoubtedly bloody conclusion. Stanley was a stammering, terrified and equally angry mess when he answered. "I-It…It's the only way!" He protested vehemently. "You wouldn't believe the vile things that go on in those parties! How many people have…t-they have to know the truth!"

The people? The people were dead! There were was no 'the people' left in Rapture. Atlas had watched them try to rise and then fall so fast it was like they were never even there to begin with.

Fuming, insulted and still able to see the red glow of the needles laid out on that silver tray, Atlas stepped back.

A single step back and then a sharp twist, turning back towards where Stanley was holed up. Coward! Fucking coward! Telling them to take ADAM into their own veins because he was too scared to step out of his little safety box and do it himself. He was going to march right back to the station and put a bullet between his eyes.

There was no truth to give to the people. None of either left in Rapture.

Atlas was somehow not surprised when Delta's hand stopped him again. This time more gently. A single hand on his shoulder. As though Delta were not fully capable of holding him down should he feel the need.

He needn't even really bother with it, they both knew there was no way Atlas alone could get himself into that security booth. Not with all those injuries and a single gun. The only way in there was with Stanley opening the door. But reason had absolutely no place in Atlas's mind right then, only the desire to leave that room and the needles on the platter behind.

In record time Atlas turned back on him, ready to fling the same violent words at the man as he had in store for Stanley before the bullet.

Delta's silence was so disarming.

One look at that glowing port and Atlas faltered. Delta's hand still out stretched a little towards him. Pleading. Not demanding. There were no people to give the truth to, fair enough, but there was still _them_. Still Delta's past and Atlas's own. One at least could be found here.

His anger fizzled back out and he almost resented Delta for that. He took no more steps towards Stanley's murder, but his hand dropped to his arm, nails biting angrily into his scars.

He had no hunger for the glowing slime in those vials atop the stage. He didn't salivate when he saw it or felt an overwhelming urge to have the stuff. He was no addict… not him.

Stanley would risk making one of him for this.

Not a word passed between them before Stanley was hastily trying to win the situation back in his favour. "C-Come on now, Jonny…" He pleaded, appealing to who he assumed to be the most reasonable of the two. He just might have been right. "Every journalist has to get his hands dirty - right up to the elbow!"

Easy for the rat bastard to say when he was being a protective layer of glass and metal.

"What's a little poke between you and the truth, eh?"

 _What's another drop of blood against all the red on your hands._ Atlas bit the inside of his cheek, scowling off in the first direction he found that didn't keep Delta in his sights. Unsure if it was his anger or the gnawing sense of disgust that built inside of him that kept his gaze angled away from the other.

He heard Delta move. Felt the slight shift of air and loss of a body at his side. Delta approached the stage again and Atlas heard the sound of the silver platter being moved. A metallic clang as the needles shifted and clattered around atop its surface.

Despite himself Atlas could not simply stand there, fists balled up so tight his knuckles began to ache, an old cut on one splitting back open.

One more drop of blood.

He turned and began to follow after Delta. Nerves alight under his skin as he eyed the plate in Delta's grasp. He'd never seen him splice up before, hadn't really thought about it until he saw Delta slipping the needle through a space in his gear. A practiced ease about the action, barely a flinch as the injection went down and flooded his blood stream. Atlas stared and for the first time thought about what Delta was.

Big daddies were pumped so full of ADAM they rivalled even that of their little wayward charges. It made sense that Delta would take to the drugs with a greater ease than a human would. Perhaps they wouldn't even make a splicer of him. If he could survive the transformation of a mindless metal man – then he could survive that insanity too, couldn't he?

Then Atlas thought of Jack.

The stumble he'd taken off the second floor the first time he grabbed up a needle. Atlas hadn't….he hadn't _told_ Jack to do that.

He wanted to believe he wouldn't have, but even he couldn't lie that well to himself. He'd have asked Jack to take up ADAM for the sake of his own family, the guilt wouldn't appear until long after. Atlas hadn't told him to use it, but he had coaxed him through accepting it and then pushed him further with each step into Rapture.

Survival and the need to get to his wife and child making him blind to Jack's wellbeing in the beginning. But when they were gone…even a short time before that dreadful moment, he'd started to wonder. Watched as Jack put more EVE into his body and got a little less human with each one.

Yet, he'd always retained that unnatural gentleness to him. Even if at times the kid really did act like a kid. He hadn't seen a grown adult scoff down candy bars like that before.

Jack had never changed, no matter how much he spliced up. Delta seemed to take to the process with more ease than even the kid could, Jack had nearly been knocked over each time he found a new plasmid, Delta was too sturdy for that.

Would Atlas be just the same?

He reached for the second needle just as Delta pulled his free of the little space in his armour that seemed designed for just this purpose. Seeing Atlas's reaching Delta intersected him. He should have been used to those little moment of physical stops that Delta put on him. He didn't have the voice to express what he wanted to, so could only physically stop and start Atlas's actions.

This time when Delta's large gloved hand touched his, it was one of support, but denial. The message clear enough, ' _you don't have to',_ protecting him.

Atlas didn't need Stanley's input to know that wasn't true.

Looking at the glowing needle left on the tray Atlas's gut turned. But when had he ever shied away from getting his hands dirty to get his way? Fought tooth and nail for the revolution and then for his family – falling short only when he couldn't push himself far as he needed to, but his hands got stained all the same. But ADAM was a whole other ballgame and even he hesitated with it in his grasp.

Gently he pushed past Delta's hand and took up the needle. Pausing again to look at the crimson liquid inside.

Ever aware of Delta watching him, Atlas ran his thumb over the glowing vial. He wondered what might go through his head in that moment as he watched him hold the needle. Would he think a weak man of him, a nasty, buried habit starting back up? The press of a gloved finger against his wrist still a lingering feeling on his skin. His own vehement declarations coming to mind.

He wondered vaguely if he still believed it better dead than a splicer.

The label under his hand had EDEN printed over it, he distantly recalled this stuff. It sent a shot of sharp resentment through him reading it again. While he still held a distaste for Ava-Tate's concoction, he found that level of spite a little overzealous. Not unlike his aversion to the carousel.

This at least made a little more sense when sickly, red drops oozed from the tip of a needle.

"Easy there." Atlas nearly jumped out of his skin, almost slipped the needle into his skin at the wrong angle when Sinclair's voice abruptly came from the radio. "Not to say you can't hold your own just fine, Atlas. But ol' Delta here is built for ADAM far more than you are."

"Thanks for the concern." Atlas growled back, wondering if his venom so much as gave the man a moment of pause. He'd wager not with how amused Sinclair seemed.

"EDEN isn't your run of the mill white powder, Atlas." He warned, voice just shy of mocking. Giving real information but not without scorn. "The stuff will make you a little less yourself, so I'm told. If you start seeing things…well in Rapture it's hard to tell the difference as is."

A hallucinogenic agent. Marvellous.

It made sense he supposed, plenty of Ava's guests were looking for a moment away from Rapture and what better way was there through using ADAM? Which was about as _Rapture_ as one could get. The irony not lost on him, but clearly had been on them.

Atlas eyed the needle with a newfound skepticism. He'd never been massive on the drugs, kicked the stuff the moment he met his Moira. Tried to kick the smokes as well when Patrick was on the way. She never had begrudged him for failing on that front. But he was at least no stranger to more illicit substances. All of which became perfectly legal in Rapture but were still avoided by the general public. Image and reputation after all.

However, Sinclair was no doubt right. EDEN was likely not as going to do down quite as easy as the other substances before ADAM. Cautiously he glanced over to Delta. Stoic as ever, he wondered how long it'd take to kick in and if it'd actually help Delta at all with Stanley's crazy plan. Could be anywhere from five minutes to hours knowing the unstable nature of ADAM.

He'd come too far and had too many questions to stop here. If Delta could stand this than so could he.

Steeling himself, Atlas repositioned the needle and attempted not to wince as his skin parted clumsily to make space for the invading metal. He swore he saw Delta step towards him and for a moment thought he'd take the needle from his hands to carry out the deed with more delicate care than Atlas could. But the giant blessedly kept his distance and left Atlas to press down and flood his body with unwelcome, diluted, ADAM.

It crawled through his skin like molten rock, however once it passed, slipping through his veins it left a chill in its place. Atlas cringed, fist clenching when he should have remained relaxed. He felt it crawling along his arm and wished the feeling away, when it faded none he opened his eyes and looking down towards his wrist.

His first mistake was picking up the needle, his second was looking, and the third was when he dropped it.

The needle smashed when it slipped from his fingers and struck the stage. Unlike the saturated theatre floors, there was nothing to soften the impact and glass went flaying in every direction, left scattered across the stage with little droplets of glowing ooze sticking to the shards.

Atlas could only look at his arm, eyes darting up his skin, following the luminous glow as it traced up his arm along his scars. Each scar it traced lighting with the unearthly glow, becoming a yellowish hue bleeding through his flesh.

Thoughtlessly he looked to Delta. Unable to see his own expression in that moment but he could take a guess as to how horrified it must have been. Mindlessly seeking out some kind of help but not knowing what to do besides turn to Delta.

Instantly the larger figure was in front of him. Hands out to steady him, perhaps catch him if he fell. When Atlas didn't collapse and only stood there tensed and shaking from the shock of the colour burning under his scars, Delta's hands rest on his shoulders. He didn't notice it as first but Delta was rubbing calming circles into his arm. It seemed to work, gradually his breathing returned and again he felt he understood Delta's intent. To comfort him, to say it was alright, that it would pass. He only needed to wait it out.

He obeyed, let Delta ground him and waited.

Eyes screwed shut, he tried not to imagine the light passing along his body as it followed those scars. The ADAM flowed through them and Atlas knew what that meant. They were the result of ADAM and accepted it back into his body welcomingly. No denying now where they'd come from and although his body seemed to accept the rush of undeserved power ADAM brought with it, he had no memory of _why_.

Why would he do this to himself? He swore he never would, no matter what _._

_Why?_

"I'm not." He whispered the words without thinking to censor himself. A wretched little voice that he was sure couldn't be his own. Delta's fingers only tightened a fraction on his arms. Never painful, always grounding. When Atlas did open his eyes this time he got to see the expression he hadn't before. Horrified was undeniably the word. He didn't say it again, didn't have to utter the word splicer for them to both know what he meant.

"I'm _not_." He insisted again just as quiet and just as desperate as the first, as though if Delta believed him he might believe it himself.

Gently Delta nodded. Just a slow downward tip of the helmet and it seemed to be all the assurance he needed in that moment. Even if it wasn't earnest agreement or it turned out somewhere along the way it would become untrue, for now it was enough.

The ADAM was in his body, but when he looked past Delta's hands and saw the remaining liquid stuck to the sharp scattered pieces of glass, he felt no greater hunger for more. He felt just himself as before, sick to his stomach but still in control.

Taking a deep breath, Atlas steadied himself. Nodded to Delta in return and was released. He knew that there were eyes on him. Sinclair's, Stanley's, Tenebaum's, fuck maybe even god himself if the deity had ever paused to glance Rapture's way. Eyes on him to see how wretchedly pathetic he'd become.

Pathetic maybe – but not a splicer. Not yet.

Spine straightening out, Atlas grasped his gun a little tighter with one hand and the bag strapped around his shoulder with the other. He mustered a firm look and then glanced up to Delta again as the big daddy returned to his full height as well.

 _I'm alright now,_ he said with his eyes and Delta understood.

Words were his weapon of choice – it was nice to not need to use them for a while. The person on the screen was still Delta, the person under these scars still Atlas. They understood one another just fine.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So.... word crashed when I was writing this. I lost a crap ton...so....next chapter might take a while.  
> RIP me.

Atlas was jittery. He knew perfectly well that was anticipation, nothing to do with the injection he'd just taken. It never happened so quickly, but the nerves began all but immediately.

Already Atlas was trying to work around this unexpected diversion from their progress. Hopeful that perhaps they could get this over and done with before it really did kick in. Then find a nice quiet place to settle and wait it out. Surely Delta still had enough turrets and trap rivets to set up a safe zone. Granted Atlas didn't think they'd be using those to wait out the worst of a trip.

However, Delta was looking down at his hands intently, turning them over in a way that was confused. Atlas didn't understand the problem until Delta began poking around the needles again, just as baffled. Delta snorted quietly in amusement. Delta had no idea why the EDEN wasn't doing anything.

"Even with ADAM in it, the stuff isn't going to give you the kick for at least half an hour." Atlas assured Delta.

Naturally Atlas couldn't get a word in without someone else cutting in. "Give or take." The way Sinclair tacked that onto the end of Atlas's assurances that made the whole thing seem far less reliable. Prick.

A low groan of understanding came rumbling out of Delta along with a nod. Despite his size Atlas couldn't help but think he was some naive kid umming and ahhing and pretending to comprehend after having something explained to him by adults.

Setting the tray down carelessly, practically tossing it aside now it was useless, Delta went to turn and get back to it. Stanley buzzing in his ear as he did. "The worst part of Ava's parties is the splicing. She pays her informants in ADAM, Johnny. Two-faced gene traitors can't be trusted! I-I-I mean, who are you shaking hands with? The man or the habit?"

Uh-huh, so what did that make them? Atlas had decided that if Stanley wasn't jacked up on ADAM then he had to be on everything else under the sea to make up for all that contradictory crazy.

Keeping his scathing words to himself Atlas moved to follow after Delta, only for the radio at his side to speak up once again. "Say, Atlas." That sounded like Sinclair wanted something. Atlas prepared to say no out of spite, on principle. "There's something I want you to do while the chief goes and hunts down Stanley's 'breakthrough story'."

"And why would I be doing that?" Atlas challenged.

"Consider it a favour for old times sake." The answer was presented in a casual light, it was only because he _knew_ Sinclair that he could hear the darker undertone to it. "I believe you owe me _plenty_ after all the lives you lost."

Delta hadn't stopped walking and Atlas swore he could hear Tenebaum's voice faintly from his helmet. Sinclair was speaking only to him. He waited for Delta to be out of earshot. He did not fancy being separated but knew this to be a requirement. He was under no illusions at to how precarious his position was. Sinclair was the one pulling these strings, so best he listen when he said to. It did not mean he'd do so obediently.

The moment Delta stepped out the door Atlas tore the radio up from his side, vicious words on the tip of his tongue. "You want to start moralizing, Sinclair? _You?"_ He snarled through the radio. "Now you listen real fucking close, Augustus. You can't hold one fucking life over my head. Not when you didn't do a damn thing for anyone other than yourself. Expressing guilt _after_ the fact doesn't wash you clean of the act. The entire city is fucking dead – you can't put that on me."

"And yet here you are." Sinclair's answer was flat. Cold even. So unlike his usual jovial tone. Atlas knew this one a little better. He did not interrupt Sinclair contempt. "Alive above it all. Now I do wonder how you managed that? Oh, yes. That's right. Because you're standing on every other dead man's shoulders."

The anger came burning through Atlas, violent and nearly overwhelming. But is bubbled away in silence.

He thought of Moira when Sinclair said those words to him. Thought of men that died for him on his word, the son who trusted him. The family he'd lost and the memories he'd been robbed of.

"What do you want, Augustus?"The demand was low and unfriendly. A slow grind of words that would have been substituted for fists had he the chance.

"Glad to see we're on the same page, friend." The jovial tone had made a return and as expected it was as shallow and thinly veiled a distaste for Atlas as always. "An old competitor, a colleague I suppose, of mine was around these parts before things went under. Last I heard from her, she was holed up in the projector room. An air pocket after this section of park joined the rest of the flood supposedly."

There was a silence where Atlas waited for the actual _favour_ to come into play. The silence persisted, stretching to an almost uncomfortable length – then he realised what it was Sinclair was asking but wouldn't say.

He wanted Atlas to look for this person.

As if sensing Atlas's judgment Sinclair went on. Heaven forbid someone think the best of him. "She was working on the Vita-Chambers around here – wouldn't tell me why mind you. Perhaps she'd be feeling a touch more conversational with you. Though I wouldn't place money on it. There might be some good in knowing what she was doing down here."

Atlas held his tongue, gaze dropping as he considered this request for a moment. He and Sinclair regrettably had a few names between them. Names that held some animosity. Sinclair had once told him, toward the end, that despite it all – he hadn't found blame in him for what had happened to those few they both knew that had died.

Apparently that sentiment had been retracted. Sinclair had formed a stronger bitterness towards him from the last time they met.

_The entire fucking city is dead!_

Once upon a time Sinclair had come to him with a different sort of request. Now he asked Atlas to look for a woman he knew, in the past he had asked that if he could, not to kill another he knew.

Present he agreed to try. Past he had failed to keep. "Fine." He answered flatly. Giving none of his thoughts to the other man. "But don't expect another single fucking favour from me." If this woman had worked on the Vita-Chambers then perhaps she'd have something to say on the matter of reanimation – something to tell him that others couldn't. It was barely a favour, just another step in the direction of answers.

Augustus took it all the same with a simple, somewhat snide response. "Duly noted, voice of the people."

Sinclair's voice fizzled out and Atlas looked upwards, towards the projector room. He didn't think that Sinclair thought truly for a moment this woman he was looking for would still be there. Perhaps it was a self punishment of sorts, to look despite knowing he'd find nothing.

Atlas supposed if given the chance he'd have gone back to the sunken submarine… just to let it truly sink in. To find nothing but the evidence of failure and loss and let it scar him.

But neither of them were sentimental men, at least willingly so. "Who am I looking for?" Atlas asked as he head for the stairs. Around him the theater changed from soaked to bone dry but no less ruined. As his foot left the final perilous and weakened softness and landed on a piece of solid land again he passed above where the water level had once reached.

Of all the name they have between them Atlas could only remember a handful well enough to place names and faces together. From what Sinclair had said he managed to clumsily sort through a few. Women, colleague, competitor – the weapon's dealer maybe? The banshee? Atlas could see one's face but not the other's. He tried to conjure up names to go with them but his mind kept him so firmly locked out it only caused his temples to ache.

When he reached the projector room he found it unlocked, why lock it when the water no doubt kept the whole thing closed off to danger? Briefly Atlas's mind flashed full of images of Alex's enormous mass and the thing that attacked his bathysphere. There were things to fear in the water besides sharks.

He hadn't gotten his answer by the time he opened up the door, a careful nudge forward as he peered into the room, wary of the people that might be left inside as opposed to the monster under the water.

It was eerily quiet inside the room. Too quiet.

"Sinclair?" Atlas asked again, expression twisting into one of irritation. He was doing the man a _favour_ , least he could do was give him the right direction. To fill in some of the gaps in his memory. It occurred to Atlas only then but perhaps Sinclair could be convinced to fill in those gaps. He didn't think the kraut would give him anything…but the old businessman could be bargained with.

At his side the radio sparked. Crackled into life only to die in a low distorted shamble of sound. "The fuck…" Atlas growled under his breath, kicking the door open fully as he set the gun down and sought out the gurgling radio.

Why was this thing making such an unholy racket? Atlas looked it over, seeking out some damage he hadn't seen before or cause for the distortion, "What? You want batteries or something?" He demanded the little metal box in his hands but all he got was more static. Abruptly he longed for Sinclair's voice to come through that static again.

Instead what he got was the radio screaming at him.

The radio shrieked at him, getting louder till he had to drop the thing, eardrums splitting and screaming back in protest until he had to clap both hands over his head to try and keep it out. It didn't stay out. The screeching of the radio only got louder and louder until Atlas was forced to the ground. His knees hitting the floor with a bruising crack and his head pounding in his ears behind the ache of the sound piercing through him.

And under the static he swore he could hear everything else. Words that didn't make a lick of sense to him in the jumbled order that they came. Only one word seeming to stand out among the mess. He heard what he thought was his name. The only voice that seemed clear enough to understand. Sinclair calling him through the radio. Though the call was flat. Not one of anger or alarm – just a flat calm.

"Augustus..." Atlas tried to speak, to answer the voice he thought he understood through all that noise. Tried to ask him to make it fucking stop, to help him. But his voice was lost somewhere in the static, impossible to hear even in his own head.

 _Shut up._ He wanted to scream back into that white noise. _Shut up and stop trying to speak._

The static spoke back.

" _Who else can you blame now?"_

His eyes snapped open and when he looked at the world around him, Atlas did not recognise it. Everything around him looked off, tilted to the wrong side as it warped inward towards a point Atlas could never locate but always continued to shift. His ears still ringing with the sound he tried to find the radio again, tried to see through the haze all around him. To find the Rapture he knew, the monster he knew preferable to the one he did not.

What he found was the blue glow of a vita-chamber, the shine of a wrench by his hands on the bloodied ground and a woman. Body still and quiet among all the sound and movement, a thing that was left untouched by the chaos in Atlas's head. He recognised that woman too.

Gaps in his mind closing shut as they filled with the name and face he'd been unable to place.

The name seared itself back into his brain, one he recalled from the revolution. The words, ' _arms dealer'_ passed through his head but rearranged themselves accordingly. _'Ally'_. Then again they rearranged themselves, becoming a word colder than that _. 'Useful'._

And in the gaps that had been welded shut in the correct form, Atlas's mind sprung forth, buzzing and clumsy as it patched the memory up. From the memory, ghosts were conjured.

From the still body Atlas's blurry vision watched as the image of the woman before death took form, crouched next to where her cold body now lay and as she'd always been in life, working. Arms soaked to the fingertips in oil, wrench in hand.

The apparition paid him now mind, the sound of her wrench pulling metal tight echoed as she tinkered under the machine above her. Focused on her work and not the eyes on her.

Blearily Atlas followed the ghostly figure up to the machine to see what it was that held every shred of her attention. A power to the people sat there just as cold and dead as the woman that worked away under it.

Atlas opened his mouth, tried to speak. "Val-" He managed before a stronger voice took over, silencing his own.

" _Miss White."_

A set of feet passed Atlas where he remained collapsed, unable to do much more than stare at the scene that surely happened over a decade ago. _"How goes it?"_ A sharply accented voice asked in a façade of informality.

" _It goes."_ The steely woman answered, the echo of a moment in history distorting a once strong voice. It echoed in and out of ghost, just as ethereal as the ghost herself. The man's remained untouched by the double trill of a ghostly memory.

Impatience bled into his voice. _"I'm not seeing any magic."_ He accused and not a second later, as though purely to spite him, the power to the people lit up. Coming to life in a spark of gold. Yet, in the face of that perceived spite, the man smirked.

With a self-satisfied grunt, the woman shoved herself away from the machine she'd fixed to the wall and given life. _"It goes."_ She repeated, a hint of smugness that was almost smothered under a heavy layer of resentment.

" _That is does."_ The suit answered, haughtier than he was impressed. Proud of himself when he hadn't done the work.

The woman seemed less proud as she propped her arm up on her knee and looked back towards the machine she'd just set in place.

This was a machine she'd designed for a monster, all because he said it was 'for the people'. _"Right up my ally this._ 'A gun in every home, peace on every street,' _wasn't it?"_ She echoed back the man's own sales pitched, not without a heavy dose of scrutiny. _"Sound like a right load of horse-shit when it comes from ya."_ Yet she'd bought into it all the same.

" _Well, at the very least it ought to rile Ryan."_ Fontaine remarked as he turned away from both the woman and machine. For a chilling second Atlas swore the ghost saw him when it sneered.

"Don't you think?"

A child screamed.

Abruptly the memory vanished, leaving only the lifeless body of the once sturdy woman and a child standing by her side, crying.

The ghosts had vanished so abruptly, fizzling out into nothingness once again, but Atlas's world had not stopped twisting. He couldn't find his balance, trying to get to his feet once again though his eyes did not leave the child.

A little sister, said his logic. Of course, it had to be a little sister, there were no other children left to cry in Rapture.

But as Atlas looked at her in that tattered red dress she seemed to…fall in and out of reality. The red dress turned mauve, tore a little more at the shoulders, then just as hastily snapped back to red before losing the shape all together, becoming a different garb entirely.

White shirt, white shorts, a little boy crying. Not a little sister, a little boy.

He fought harder to stand. Atlas's feet were unsteady, but he managed to take a step forward, the world nearly dipping where his foot connected with what he'd thought was solid ground.

Suddenly the crying stopped and the child that had been curled up with hands over his ears went still, hearing Atlas's movement over his own crying. Little, dirty fingers still fisted in a mop of blonde hair, Atlas swore he knew that form. No. He _knew_ he recognised it. He did, he couldn't be wrong. There was no doubt in his mind. That was his kid.

Softly, Atlas tried again to speak. "…Patrick?"

Upon hearing the name the boy sprung upright faster than Atlas's warped vision could follow and darted around him. Instinctively Atlas reached for him, the boy's name on his tongue as he shouted after him. But the kid was too quick and Atlas had no choice but to force himself to run after them. His world only became less recognisable as he left the projection room. What had once been Rapture in decay was now Rapture in its prime. _Beyond_ its prime.

Something right out of Cohen's books and surpassing his twisted idea of beauty. Every light in Rapture seemed to light the theatre, small red petals passed by Atlas's head as he entered the animated theatre.

There was a swell of music, bright and lively against the sound of many chattering voices. Voices that had no form to go with them, at least not at first.

As Atlas raced down the steps, more ghostly figures began to appear. They appeared nothing like the ghosts he'd encountered up those steps. Their forms clumsy, dripping and losing their detail every few seconds. Greyed out and as lifeless as the corpses they'd no doubt formed from.

Each one he nearly passed through turned to watch him, masks where their faces ought to have been. Each one started at him as he ran after the child and even though they had no eyes with which to judge him Atlas felt the weight of their stares resting heavy on his shoulders.

He didn't care about that, all he cared about was reaching his kid.

Again he tried to call for Patrick, to tell him to come back, but the words got caught in his throat as his weight abruptly fell out from under him.

The final step he'd placed his foot on had given away and while it looked perfectly sturdy to his eyes, it felt corroded, wet as he placed weight on it and collapsed under his weight, sending Atlas tumbling. He shouted out a curse as his burned shoulder struck the floor bellow, taking the brunt of the fall and all around him those faceless figures were still watching. Filling up the stage seats, they turned towards him and no longer spoke.

Their empty masks didn't hold his gaze. Neither did the brilliant golds and reds of the theatre in a moment of blissful, impossible vibrancy. Not the music, or the incessant chatter of long gone voices – just his kid.

Looking up from where he'd struck the ground Atlas sought out that little form again and found the boy standing before the stage. Radiant lights from the screen falling down upon his tiny form, lighting up blonde curls as he stood quietly and looked upwards to the show. As if enraptured by something Atlas couldn't see.

Scrambling back to his feet Atlas continued to chase after the now stationary boy. "Boyo!" Atlas called before he reached his son, prompting the boy to begin to turn towards him.

He swore he caught a glimpse of blue eyes before his vision was cut off sharply, blocked not by a shadowy form of the ghosts, but by a very real figure. Atlas fell back out of reach just in time to see a long, unnaturally sharp limb come crashing down where his head would have been only second earlier had he not moved.

Heart hammering in his chest Atlas backtracked, fingers fumbling for the gun he'd so foolishly put back by his side. He hadn't wanted his son to see him holding a gun as he followed after him.

All the while the world still turned and the thing in front of him twisted along with it. Something whipped past his face, slashing a long cut against his cheek, Atlas cringed and jerked away from the thing only to see it was a ribbon. Nothing more than a long curling strip of red and as he followed its length it lead back to the looming body before him.

The creature that had separated him from the child was towering over him.

In a second Atlas took it in. The red his eyes had followed leading to streamed it clutched and had seemingly used to cut him. The jarring jingle of the bells dangling from the things mask had Atlas staring at it. Twisted body turned like a wire frame and large, bloodied, calloused fingers where each joint and knot in its hand had hardened, enlarged and inflamed till it looked painful.

The thing before him was a mess of colours, just as gold and red as the rest of the grotesque circus the theatre had become. Its legs long and spindly passed up above Atlas's waist. He could not tell where the flesh began and ended, if the long pole like limbs were wooden at all or if it had all become flesh.

All of it an affront to Atlas's eyes.

And it laughed. Oh it _laughed_.

The beast cackled in a way that only barely resembled a human's giggling. Breathless, wheezing and at points shrieking as it drew its spear like leg back to its body where it hunched in on itself, supported only by one leg as the other had been used to strike a large hole in the ground. The thing had been aiming for Atlas.

Like the creature in the ocean, this one had once been human he was sure, but Atlas could find nothing human about it now. Not as its bones cracked and snapped into unnatural positions and it moved again.

Spider like and far too quick as it came at him again, the sound its long limbs made as it scuttled around was unpleasant, as though each step it took rearranged and contorted its bones. Each step leaving another hole in the soft ground beneath it.

Atlas leapt back, world curling in on him in that nauseating way, though it did not touch the mad jester's form. It continued to chase after him, wailing hicks and giggles growing louder as it hunted him down.

Impressively he refrained from cursing, _fucking Rapture!_

Again one lean, talon like leg came flying up and this time Atlas saw how it poised and prepared to strike him. It was quick, but an awkward creature. Each movement it made lacked subtly, giving Atlas more than enough time to guess its intent and aim. He darted aside the spear as it came racing down for his head yet again.

The spear missed but the red ribbons in those enlarged, knobbed fingers struck him again. Leaving another paper cut along his arm. It stung but it was little more than a distraction.

A way for the creature to hurt and drag prey's attention away from the real deadly weapon it possessed. Atlas hissed in pain but did not focus on that slashing ribbon, did not dare try to grab it, least it sever his fingers. Atlas let it fall away from him, harmless after the initial cut.

The jester shrieked, furious and deforming itself to turn in the limited space it had. Seeking out the prey that continued to skirt by it. While the thing repositioned itself Atlas had grasped his gun but his eyes caught on the child on the other side of the looming form.

There he was, curled on the ground, hands back in his hair and sobbing. Terrified.

 _Right._ He thought violently. _Enough of that._

Atlas looked up, took in the creature's movements and steeled himself again. Behind its smiling, clown mask, the creature was cackling again.

Jaw unhinged, dropping too far down to be obscured by even the full faced mask it wore. Atlas could see its jagged teeth and hear how it wheezed and choked on it's own laughter. The spider like creature arched up again, spine curling back just a bit too far as it lifted the spear again.

This time he timed it better. Stayed as still as his nerves would allow, crouched and breathing hard through his mouth. The second that spear came hurtling down at him, Atlas kicked off the ground. Having to account for how the world had taken on a mind of its own, he managed to navigate the thing's legs.

Slipping under the first and between them until he'd darted behind the second, turning only for a second, taking his aim and focusing only on the creature's body, not allowing the ever warping theatre to draw his eye.

Then he fired. A thunderous bang that he swore shattered the very air around him. The bullet flew from the mouth of the gun and Atlas saw the moment his aim rang true as the bullet tore through the jester's thin leg, right through its knee joint until it tore out the other side.

Screaming in rage the beast balanced itself on the one leg it had left, a high pitched keening wail dragging from its mouth. Mourning the leg it had lost in agony.

The pain kept it distracted only for seconds. Long enough that Atlas had nearly reached the shaking child.

Hands rushing out to see if he was okay only to be jerked back as something snared him. It took a moment for the pain to register as the red ribbons caught his arms, slicing into them as he was pulled back towards the still screeching beast.

Atlas grit his teeth, biting down a scream of his own as warm blood dripped from his cut up arms. He tried not to pull away despite his instincts screaming to do just that, knowing a struggled would hurt more as the ribbons would cut in deeper. He was caught in a spider's wed.

Despite this Atlas's eyes were forced back open as his kid screamed again and he saw more of the monster's red lines rushing towards him. That brought Atlas back to himself.

It brought him beyond himself until inside his own head he heard a shout of, _Not a fucking chance, I won't stop here! I came too far for this!_

When Atlas shouted, the sound came out as a roar that surprised even himself and both arms exploded into light. Atlas did not even know what he'd done until the wire like ribbons holding him burst into flames around him. Falling away uselessly as he burnt right through them.

His first thought was one of horrified understanding. _Plasmid_. His second was a more visceral, hateful thought. _Kill it._

Before his mind could think too much of it and lose what little control he had, Atlas twisted once free of the restraints, hands still burning furiously and took aim for the creature again. Flinging one burning ball at it. He hit his mark in the adrenaline-fuelled focus, fire exploding along the thing's mask, cracking and breaking it in places.

More importantly than all that as it fell back and the red wires were pulled away from his son. Leaving the child completely unharmed. Atlas wanted nothing more, even if the rage burning away in his chest said what he'd wanted most was to see the creature burn.

Screeching the perverse jester went down, flailing and screaming through broken teeth. Its entire weight when rushing down to the ground, unable to stand as its leg was rendered useless.

All its limbs twisted and pulled in different directions, looking for balance it could not find until finally the other leg snapped. It gave away under its own weight as the jester twisted but the spear remained firmly stuck in the ground. Leaving the creature hanging form its own kneed joints, still screaming.

But Atlas hadn't stopped.

That first spray of blood was enough for him, the moment he saw the jester begin to fall he'd turned. Closing the distance between himself and the child. Arms instinctively wrapping around their head, hands over the kid's ears. He cringed against the piercing shrill cry of the maimed creature, teeth grit as he tried to block it out but physically kept the sound from the child's ears.

Still it wailed. Louder and louder until Atlas could take it no more.

With one arm wrapped around the child's head, the other raised his gun once again, aiming for the gaping mouth under that mask as the downed animal screamed and squirmed pathetically. Two shots. The first ripped clean through its jaw and the scream became a gurgling, pleasant sound as it choked and wheezed. The second managed it, clean through it's head and out the other side.

Then silence. Blessed silence.

Panting heavily Atlas stared at the jester's body, not so much as a twitch from it after all that wild thrashing. The red ribbons that bore drops of his blood quietly landing around the corpse. The murmuring started again. Those hazy figures among the theatre seats speaking between themselves in low whisper he didn't understand to be any language starting up again. They grew louder until there was a sound that felt crisp. Real.

Someone broke through the wordless mutterings with a clap.

Clap after clap, he was being applauded by someone. Slowly Atlas realised the sound was coming from above. He turned slightly, pulling the trembling child closer to his chest and still covering their ears as he looked to the stage. Up above, standing in the spotlight that had once held a simple tray of needles red – was a woman.

"Oh, _darling_. What a show!" She chimed, elated voice carrying too far for the breathy way it spoke.

While the figure above had changed plenty, the red clad form fit perfectly into the gap in Atlas's mind, no struggle to attache a name to this one.

He hadn't seen Ava-Marie Tate in years.

She still looked like a bitch.


	11. Chapter 11

He'd thought Stanley mad.

How could he not when the guy went harping on about parties in Rapture when the whole place was corroding around them? Atlas thought him mad for thinking Ava-Marie Tate was alive. But he recognised that visage, knew the voice well enough and his gaze was filling with the well-known red of her dress.

Staring at her now she appeared as flawless outwardly, and outwardly only, as the last time she'd stood before him…when was that?

The memories did not come easily but did begin to push through sluggishly. Atlas didn't try to block them out, welcoming the return of what little he could get. He remembered a scowl, pretty features twisting up into something vicious. Words shouted but in the foggy memory the words she screamed at him were muted. Had he laughed at the time? Atlas couldn't recall with clarity, but he knew someone had laughed. Sounded wrong to him. He _thought_ he'd been the one laughing but that wasn't his voice.

Too quickly the walls snapped back up inside his head. His skull ached. A familiar oppressive pain that pressed against the insides of his mind, trying to expand out. To keep him out of his own thoughts.

It was the trembling of the kid in his arms that brought Atlas out of his attempts to even try opening his mind back up.

They were shaking like a leaf but not trying to struggle away or run from him, so Atlas just held a little tighter to create the façade of protection. There was no safety in Rapture and very few children had ever been safe by his side – he hoped this might be an exception to that trend.

As though the theatre, still filled with the hazy, vaguely human shapes, were not unsettling enough with its single focused light giving Ava the spotlight she so craved. There was new sounds now as well.

It was a sound he did not recognised.

Soft at first, nearly indistinguishable but growing louder with each second, crawling closer until the noise was sharp and focused. Clacking like two small pieces of wood being haphazardly knocked together. Then scrapping, clicking, cracking – something that sounded like splintering.

Then there came the cackling and Atlas's whole body went tense.

It was not the same wheezing cackle of the fallen creature that lay still and silent a small distance from the stage. It was higher, crisp and hysterical. Atlas nearly couldn't believe it when he caught sight of where it originated from.

Surrounded by ghosts and towering jesters, but it was the dangling _puppets_ up above his head that had Atlas's heart clenching.

He imagined this fear born of unease to be similar to that fear people who could not stand clowns felt when faced with one. However, they had the comfort of knowing it was all make up and a fuzzy red nose. Atlas had no such luxury as one by one the things appeared up above, their wooden bones clacking as they laughed.

Strings attached them to the ceiling, but Atlas could not see where, too dark to make out where they attached and ended. But the dolls moved as if they had no restrictions. Jerky little movements that brought them ever closer to the ground. To Atlas and the child.

Realising that sitting there was no option Atlas shifted his weight. The puppets had done nothing beside assault his ears their cackling wails, but Atlas was uninterested in waiting to see what they just might do.

If it was in Rapture it likely meant to kill them.

But before he could change his grasp on the child to urge them to run or to hoist them up and run himself, he was halted by another near impact object hurtling past him. The force with which the metal beam struck the ground nearly shook Atlas and in his arms the child screamed. The bar was about as thick as his forearm, easily enough to have skewered them and with the force with which it was thrown, left imbedded and upright in the ground, it would have struck them both through with little effort. His nerves were rattled, heart rapidly pounding against his chest, it felt as though it hadn't stopped racing since he'd first collapsed, the radio's screaming static shouting accusations at him.

Maybe even beyond that, back to the beginning of the revolution. He hadn't stopped to take a breath since then. He could not afford to stop and catch his breath now either. It felt never ending.

Up about him Ava's chiming laughter sounded, taking credit for that near miss, and on reflex Atlas pulled one arm away from the kid, letting it once again burst into flames.

Only for his effort to conjure up the plasmid to fall short.

The heat rose sharply in his arm as before but never became more than a red glow under his skin and then as if you punish him, a wave of nausea rolled over him. The gut churning feeling accompanied by a hit of dizziness that might have taken him to the ground had he not braced himself against the stage before him.

It was a deeply hollow feeling that ached through his veins now. Disorientated he managed to equate it to a sensation of emptiness, like a stomach that hadn't been fed in days beginning to attack its inner walls just to have something, anything, to consume. Even itself. Now it was in his veins, causing his fingers to twitch and curl in on themselves towards the palm where the flame should have burst from.

Again Ava laughed and Atlas found himself thinking the beautiful bell like laughter to be the most hideously ugly thing he'd ever heard. The bitch.

"Looks like you're running a little thin there, darling." Ava mocked and despite his faintness Atlas forced himself to look up to meet those eyes. Violent delight dancing across the queen of the silver screen's face. "You took my lovely EDEN, but you're a starving man, aren't you? Not something that can be sated without a hit of the real stuff. Isn't that so, darling?"

Atlas bore his teeth in a snarl, the words ' _I'm no bleedin splicer_!' on his tongue. But he bit them back down. That emptiness in his veins whispering otherwise.

And as always, Ava was happy to be the centre of it all. Crowing to the audience of faceless specters and giggling puppets, "It's no wonder Cohen closed the Fort, darlings. Theatre is dead…Why play the voyeur when ADAM can make you a star?"

"You want to be a star so badly you might as well just let Stanley take his fucking photos!" Atlas spat back up at her and found himself further infuriated when her Steinman brand smile only widened.

"Oh Stanley. Always seeking out the truth, so desperate for it. Poor dear, he was sweet but insubstantial, like boardwalk candy-floss." She remarked flippantly, and Atlas was under no illusions as to how he was 'sweet'. Ava had so many men in her back pocket. Distantly his mind equated it to some name and face he couldn't recall but his mind rallied against it.

Ava used sex and drugs, that long-lost ghost had not.

But in Rapture it hardly mattered. Weak men would follow. Ava had used that as had Atlas and as did Lamb. Rapture mad monsters of men and Atlas was left to wonder if it had truly distorted him or if he'd always been so pitiless.

When Ava's purr came to him again, the words struck something inside of him "Stanley…a man who sold blood and brood – a feather of your flock, no?" She asked, leaving Atlas's insides tight and cold.

 _Sold blood and brood._ He'd never…

Ava was uninterested in what he had to say, too busy basking in her own misplaced sense of grandeur. Satisfaction taken from her crimes. "From Ryan to Sinclair...and from Sinclair to me. Mademoiselle "Sofia Lamb" was made to vanish from Rapture without a trace. My people find every photo, every news clipping, every advert...and blot her out. To blot _anyone_ out. People think themselves solid, real, substantial. But not _you_. You arrive from nothing just as I made nothing of others. I find myself curious, let me know your secrets. Precious little else keeps my attention now days. So share them with me, won't you kindly?"

His skin crawled.

"Kindly go fuck yourself." He shot back just in time to see that smile distort and twist into a snarl and her arm raise. He knew an action meant to kill well enough. Pushing both he and the child back just as Ava tore a piece of the theatre up like it was nothing. Plasmids, he was unsurprised and when he found her to be using telekinesis he cursed silently. But his focus didn't shift, diving out of the way of the rebar she'd thrown at him.

The movement was heavy, sluggish, with the child in his arms. He could feel her tiny fingers clutching his shirt, her trembling so violent it was a miracle her teeth weren't chattering.

It didn't strike Atlas that he'd reverted to calling the child _she_. A little more absorbed in the act of keeping them both alive.

Before the unpleasant conversation could kick up once again, Atlas's eyes snapped back up towards the ceiling. Those wooden creatures ever closer, too close. In a matter of seconds, they'd be upon them and Atlas's mind helpfully conjured up suggestions as to what they might do if they caught them. Briefly he thought back to the strings that had cut him up, the gashes still oozing blood and he looked to the puppet's strings with the same mix of contempt and caution.

He felt cornered. Knowing he couldn't let the child run or she'd no doubt be caught by those wooden fingers or a splicer without protection. But he couldn't protect either of them like this for long. What was he supposed to do? He always had escape routes planned out. He always had a plan-

_Running a little thin._

The solution presented itself to him with all the comfort of a gun to his throat. But if the only answer was the pull the trigger then it was what he'd do. He'd come too far to stop now.

Fuck. Okay.

Overhead he heard Ava ripping up another part of the theatre to try and crush him with and the shot of adrenaline the sound gave him allowed Atlas to quickly move his arms under the child that clutched herself to his chest, hauling her up off the ground and closer to his torso as he kicked up off the ground. He got no more than five running steps before the first puppets hands reached him.

He felt the boney little wooden fingers grasping at his hair but found them to be insubstantial at stopping him. Relief flooded him momentarily, thinking the puppets to not be the same looming threat as the jester and Ava.

But their cackling was louder now, littered with words here and there. He caught a few as he ran, breaking their wooden bones when they tried to grasp him. Still they laughed and spoke.

 _Play_ , one insisted excitedly. _Performance_ , another conceded as it's fingers broke trying to grip Atlas's shoulder. _Dead_ , one suggested and another disagreed, _Asleep_.

 _The Beast,_ they accused.

On that word it was like their fragile little wooden fingers became metal spikes and Atlas's run was abruptly jerked to a halt. The child he'd held so close slipped from his grasp as the puppets jerked him back.

He saw her tumble out of his arms, the clumsy attempt to keep a hold on her at least managed to make her landing less of a fall and more an awkward stumble. As she staggered back on bare dirty feet Atlas saw the child looking back and for a moment he saw her for what she was, glowing yellow eyes set deep on a scared face.

For once he didn't care. For once it just didn't matter and Atlas found himself shouting. "Kid, just run!"

If she hesitated Atlas chalked it up to fear for herself, not him. Little sisters did not feel fear for those that weren't their protectors. There was a crushing wave of relief when he did see her run out of the puppet's reach, able to pass them just as they snared Atlas but missed catching even the strands of hair on her head as she dashed from the theatre.

That left him with his arms free of the girl but the puppets still held onto him. Tiny, crushing fingers biting into his body, no doubt leaving bruises. Somewhere behind him he heard Ava laughing again. No longer that tinkling giggle but something foul and feral. He couldn't face her as he tried to jerk away from the puppets.

Still they spoke.

Too many tiny voices all at once. The ghosts in the seats watching in silence and no doubt Ava closing in on him. But the words kept getting stuck in his head.

"In your head." They chattered, splitting Atlas's ears with the unintelligible screaming. Only fragments of their words, accusations, questions, declarations, came to him. "Get out. The best lies. Show your cracks. Set it straight." Over and over. The words grew louder. They kept growing louder, scrapping at the insides of his brain. Leaving him unable to find a single thought of his own.

They were drowning him in his own head. He grew smaller with every word, vanished a little more with every word that wasn't his own. He couldn't find himself in their noise and he wanted to scream but had no voice with which to do so.

There was no way to put a stop to the onslaught and it just kept going. More and more, it kept growing and he became less and less. Over and over and _over and over and andoveroverandove-_

Blue.

" _Wake up, Atlas. You're alive."_

His eyes had not opened again but behind those tightly closed lids, he saw blue. Soft and soothing. He saw blue and he returned. Once again one with his own mind and body.

When his eyes did snap back open he saw red instead and knew it was Ava closing in on him. The red glow of Ava's luminous dress neared, bathing his back in the ADAM made light and leaving his silhouette on the ground, it was only after he'd seen that clashing blue that he could see reality again. A moment of clarity among all the chaos around him.

His gaze jerked upwards towards the chattering puppets and saw for a split second what EDEN was changing for him. The puppets were little more than what remained of the fallen Jester's ribbons. How real that was and what else had been warped by the drug did not matter.

What mattered was that these puppets were not able to keep him. It was the drug distorting his mind, making him feel trapped when he could break away. It scared him how a mind could trick him so easily, to make something so fake feel so real.

Despite his return to reality, Atlas was running out of time in regard to the bitch at his back.

As the first of his restraints gave away, the EDEN's influence returning but no longer fooling him as to the nature of the puppet's strength. He broke their fingers again as he jerked away. Behind him he heard Ava screaming in anger, but even she seemed to flicker and change with reality seeping in and she seemed far less herself than he thought. Her voice not the one he recalled Ava having.

It didn't matter. Didn't matter if it was Ava, a ghost or just some splicer the EDEN had projected her onto – she still meant to kill him and so Atlas didn't go looking for answers in her.

Atlas never did like running away but he'd had no choice as of late and he tore out of the theatre, the doors that had almost swung shut when the little sister fled through them thrown back open as he burst through them. All the while he fumbled with his bag. Trying to run and seek out the first aid kit at the same time.

Behind him he felt things being torn up. Heard and felt projectiles narrowly missing him, snapping at his heels as Ava's voice shrieked after him. Screaming something about the beast and redemption. Atlas knew there was no redemption for people like her. People like them.

As he ran he hoped to see the form of Delta somewhere. Sought him out whenever his gaze wasn't pulled back to his desperate seeking through his bag. His footsteps slowed a bit as he left Triton Theatre. The glow of the luminous plants on either side of him as he whipped around. Seeking weapon or safety, either would do if Delta were not nearby.

It was a mistake to have slowed in the first place. He felt his body gripped by a force that had no physical presence. His mind registered the word telekinesis only a split second before that force grasped him tightly and hurled his body through the air.

The breath was knocked out of him as he struck the ground. His burnt arm lit up in white hot pain as it ground against the filthy floor of the gallery entrance that lay just beyond the theatre. His body did not even have the common courtesy to hit only once, leaving Atlas to take every hit to add to the long list of injuries he'd accumulated. He could feel the cuts he'd gotten gathering up bits of debris and dirt, infection becoming a substantial threat.

When the violent strikes with the ground came to a halt they did so with Atlas's body skidding a small distance and left prone on the ground. Cringing through grit teeth he reconciled with the new wave of pain that washed over him.

Worse still he could see his bag lay a fair distance away from him. Having flown further than him till it hit the twin statues that sat at the centre of the entrance hall. Some of his belongings had tumbled out, including the first aid kit he'd been searching for but from where he lay, gasping in pained lung fulls of air, he knew he couldn't reach it yet. He needed a moment to even gather himself enough to attempt crawling and he didn't have the luxury of time to waste on gathering himself.

His vision blurred in and out of focus and he wondered if he might just be concussed from that. But as his world swam he noticed a splash of colour and terrified yellow eyes. Shit. The kid was hiding behind the statue, staring at him with those wide scared eyes.

It dawned on him that the child did not seem scared of him so much as scared for him. But he knew that had to be wistful thinking, little sisters did not have the capacity to care for humans. Still when she crept a little closer he managed to raise his hand in a firm stop motion and she did.

 _Stay_. He mouthed silently and again she did. Huddling back against the statue.

Just as well because it was not a second later the bitch descended on him. Snarling through bloodied lips Atlas managed to hoist himself up onto his knees but Ava seemed unconcerned by his attempts to right himself. Toying with him as she approached at her own pace, smiling like the cat that had already caught the canary between her fangs. She just might be right, Atlas didn't see an easy out for this. His gun had perhaps one bullet left, his bag too far to reach and his veins empty of ADAM.

To say the situation was bleak would be generous.

"Do you not enjoy my happy hunting ground, voice of the people?" She mocked, and Atlas didn't offer up an answer. Not feeling up to bantering with the red bitch.

However, he did feel as though this was going to be a short experience. Already he could see the ADAM flowing through Ava's veins as her fingers twisted and curled, chunks of cement following the movement and rising till they danced around her shoulders.

Despite knowing it was futile, Atlas raised his gun. It was a quick movement, but Ava was not troubled by what was probably a considerable head injury and the gun was knocked from his hand with a violent smash as a rock collided with his hand.

Atlas felt something snap.

Biting down a scream he dropped the fractured hand down to be cradled by the other. From the corner of his eye he saw the little sister's hands snap up to her mouth, likely swallowing a scream of her own.

But Ava was too busy basking in her victory to notice the child. Even as the girl began to ignore Atlas's wishes and crept forward. He didn't risk barking at her not to. Kept his gaze on Ava as best he could all the while being aware of little hands reaching for his bag.

"Naughty, naughty. You didn't sign the waiver."

Anything he might have said in response to Ava's mocking would have come off as weak, childish even. He had no clever retort and so said all he wanted with his eyes and if looks could kill this would have been no fight at all.

Ava began to approach him, those pieces of metal and rubble still circling her body, ever ready should her prey decide to get high spirited on her. "Don't be like that, darling. We used to get along so well. Don't you remember the fun we had?"

As a matter of fact…

Atlas did not enlighten her. Kept his silence and his scowl. Ava looked both disappointed and irritated by his locked tongue. "You are the beast wrapped in layers. I'd be doing you a favour by stripping them from you. Why fight who you actually are?"

They crossed over into splicer ranting territory for all Atlas cared. She was just another lunatic that happened to have retained a pretty face. Which…now he thought on it, had to be a result of the EDEN. He did not attempt to imagine how grotesque she might be without that pretty drug to colour his vision. She was ugly enough inside to make her pretty outta shell equally repulsive.

Just as Ava's patience seemed to have reached its end, they both heard the sound of something scrapping across the ground. The two adults were taken off guard by the sound, turning towards its source and Atlas felt his heart seize up in his chest. For the first time since this all happened – it was in hopeful disbelief.

Clattering towards him was a glowing vial of EVE, a medical hypo. The sister had tossed it towards him.

His body sang in relief knowing that the needle would take some of the ache away but Atlas's mind screamed with violently excited glee because what was more important was that the needle would give him exactly what he needed. It would set him free.

Ava seemed to have failed to understand what happened, but Atlas didn't hesitate. Lunging for the vial and by the time Ava's mind caught up and she screamed, the needle was already plunged deep into his arm and the moment the first drop of EVE entered his system – even if it was designed to heal – his skin came alive again with the crackle of fire.

Now shrieking like a banshee, Ava threw her hands about her head, upheaving a massive piece of stone, some broken statue by the look of it. The pieces of metal and cement came crashing towards him along with the massive stone bolder. But Atlas had never gotten to his feet so quickly. Moving aside of the projectile with ease. Thought when it hit the ground it nearly shook his balance out from under him.

Not enough to stop him from lining up a perfect shot. All it took was a firm swing of his hand and the burning embers that gathered shot out towards the witch. He saw it hit with satisfaction as that pretty, made-up hair began to burn. Her skin blistered quickly, ruining what had once been a lovely, poisonous face. Atlas found this to be an improvement to her face in fact.

Seemingly Ava had lost all her ability to appear coherent or rational, screaming and tugging at her hair as she flew off the handle. Her pained shrieks becoming raged filled ones once again. Always had been a sore loser and she rarely every lost. She should have known better, he always got what he wanted as well while she had never managed to get him. Time changed nothing about that.

"You wretch! You liar! You two-timing little-! Y-You….you _faker_! _ **You don't even exist!"**_

Atlas heard something wrong with her screaming, that voice that wasn't her own bleeding through, but he didn't stop to attempt to decode it. He didn't care about anything besides shutting her up. No matter who she might or might not be.

Apparently having reached her sanity's end Ava began to glow. Well and truly glow. Red lights licking up off her skin, burning around the tattered fabric of her dress, flaring up all around her. Right down to her very eyes, she glowed a vibrant, violent red. Atlas had never seen anything quite like it and when she failed to explode out of existence like a Houdini he realized that it was a plasmid he sure as hell did not know. Some part of him knew it couldn't have been a plasmid at all, it was something else at play. Maybe the EDEN, maybe his fractured mind – but no matter what it was, it would still no doubt spell disaster for him if he allowed it to.

And when that light pulsing from her very skin began to ball up and form in her clawed fingers not unlike how his incinerate formed against his own palm. He knew something meant to be thrown when he saw it and Atlas wasn't about to test out how hard it hit.

Especially when he glanced back and saw the scared little girl still clutching her bag to his chest. He had to shield her and himself. Running not an option this time.

The glowing display might have tripped someone else up but Atlas's mind was buzzing, moving so quickly that he barely even understood himself what was happening until his hands were doing it. Grabbing hold of what looked like a broken door, a heavy slab of metal that had once been used to seal off valuable parts of Rapture but now lay useless on the ground. Atlas picked it up like it weighed nothing.

Ava threw her red while Atlas reached out for the girl that had given him his second chance and pulled her sharply behind both him and the make shift shield. The impact of Ava's onslaught of colour pushed Atlas and the shield back, but neither gave. The heavy metal shook against his forearm, hurt to keep in place, but it did not break away under the pressure.

But the pressure did not let up.

To Atlas's horror it kept bearing down on them. Not so much a ball of fire as it was a flamethrower keeping them pinned. Shit… _shit_.

He needed time to think! He needed time, he needed….fuck he needed help.

The thought struck him so harshly that it nearly toppled him over where Ava's attack had initially failed. He needed help. God he truly needed help. In his head he could hear himself screaming the words where his prideful tongue refused to do so.

At least that was until the child he was guarding behind his back screamed. The sound a sobbing cry of fear he sometimes heard when a big daddy went down. But when that happened Jack had always helped them up, comforted them and returned them to their rightened state.

Jack had helped them. Jack had helped _him_.

But there was no Jack now and Atlas desperately needed that help again.

" _You only ever needed to ask."_

Then that same calm voice he'd heard in his mind came rippling back through Atlas's awareness. The woman's voice came with crystal clarity as though it had been spoken by his ear.

It felt like there was something cool at his back, a soothing hand between his shoulder blades and when it faded he saw blue again. Saw it step on past him and the shield, flecks of the red that bounced off the metal between him and what would likely be death, sizzling out when they hit the blue figures flanks.

He recognised that form. It was a illusions shape. Not the first he'd seen but perhaps the first that seemed to be to his benefit.

"I think that's quite enough of you, bitch." The ghost spoke, calm and cold. Not to him. "Would you kindly fuck off."

The violent onslaught of red was wiped away with a single wave of the hallucination's hand. An outpour of watercolour blue racing along the red tendrils to their source. The witch shrieked, an enraged screeched that echoed around every corner of Atlas's mind. But as the blue reached its fingers the woman body began to shred. Blue cracks snaking up from the first point of contact until she was shattering, exploding from within with a vibrant burst of blue.

Just like that the illusion was gone. Leaving behind something more pathetic in its place.

Atlas blinked, vision hazy but able to make out the stumbling shape of someone else entirely. A scrawny, erratic looking body where Ava's had once been beginning to crawl and then stumble up to their feet to run. Dashing right out of Atlas's sight but his mind was still too jumbled to make sense of what or who he'd seen in Ava's place.

As the red settled and faded away, the remaining blue figure turned towards the crouched, panting man at its spine. EDEN didn't so much dope people up as it seemed to create their own little world – Atlas could have done without the physical side of it all. He wondered if this was normal for all people who took the drug and then immediately decided it wasn't. There'd have been much more talk about it had it done this to everyone.

It was something about his head that warped it so violently. He was unsure as to what that said about him that he did not already know. His own mind was no friend of his.

His saviour or his delusion smirked as she took a good look at the beaten revolutionary. Peering at him closely and it was then that Atlas realised she wasn't solid. He could see through her if he looked hard enough. A ghost. Not unlike the ghost of the arms dealer he'd seen up in the projector room.

Wasn't his mind just full of all kinds of absurdity?

The ghost tossed him one sardonic smile and glance towards the child huddled behind him, the smile softening somewhat as it seemed to reach those dead eyes right before the blue form flickered and vanished out of existence. He strangely wished her back, but he did not know how to call to the dead.

With the illusion gone, the city turning quiet devoid of any puppets chattering or wicked women's laughter, it left Atlas alone with the girl, panting and still crouched behind the shield they no longer needed. But he didn't set it aside, didn't move at all. His bones ached and for a moment he just needed to be still, to gather himself properly.

For the first time in what felt like years, he took a breath.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Take a breath.

"… _a….t_ …."

Static. The static was speaking again. His mind was rejecting it again.

"… _la….as…t-_ Atlas!"

He was back.

It was very much like blinking awake from a dream. Eyes snapping back open without the knowledge he'd had them shut to begin with. Taking a startled gasp of air back into his lungs as he returned to the present. A voice in his head that for once he was sure had to be real.

But then again, it would not be the first time his mind led him astray.'

With clarity there came pain. Dulled by the ADAM coursing through his veins, going about its intended purpose of stitching the host back together. It was a gradual process and Atlas dragged his hand up before his eyes, sure enough he found it sat at the wrong angle. In an attempt to right that wrong before the ADAM could fuse his bones together incorrectly, Atlas hastily snapped it back into place, teeth biting down on his lip as violently as he could without drawing more of his own blood.

Still that voice came to him, real, solid, across the radio.

Tenenbaum.

"Atlas, are you awake?" The way the German woman said it, the heaviness to her words, Atlas knew what she was really asking.

"I 'ear you." He grunted, testing the movement of his fingers out gingerly.

It hurt horribly, more so with the adrenaline dying away. Just as well it had kept him alive in the moment, now he was left with the fallout of that encounter. Still wondering just how much of it truly happened. The physical evidence suggested most of it had happened, though he didn't place much stock in the ghosts he'd seen or even Ava. Something about her not solid enough. There'd been a body there sure enough, but he doubted it was truly Ava.

What was very real however, was the tiny body still carefully crouched at his side, trembling.

Looking at her now and seeing her for what she was, Atlas could not help but feel cheated. A smaller part of him said to feel that way was to be selfish – but he was never a selfless man, no matter what the propaganda said.

She was filthy, as they all were, hands dirtied and blood caked along her shredded dress. Atlas for a moment wondered if any of it was her own but decided it was more likely what was left of her last ADAM collection. A meal that made his insides squirm. He checked that squirming, it was discomfort. Not hunger. Not a splicer. Not him.

The little sister was not his son. Atlas's mind tried to backtrack, to remember all the parts of his delusions. He recalled blond hair, thought it belonged to Patrick. But when he thought more carefully he realised it couldn't have been Patrick. His son had curly hair…he…he was sure of it. The afterimage that he'd imprinted onto the child in his mania had disheveled but clearly straight hair.

But he knew it. Somewhere in his memory he knew a child like that.

He thought a little more and recalled when the illusion had shifted. The dress he saw then had been red. The dress this girl was clad in was a dulled shade or purple. He assigned the tag 'violet' to it in some distant sort of way. Still recovering from the flurry of movement and fight that he'd been abruptly torn from.

The girl seemed to be fairing no better than he was. Hands clutched over her head and shaking violently. Atlas became aware of his arm looping over her shoulders protectively only once he felt her shaking through it. Their shield had finally been dropped somewhere between his brief nearing to unconsciousness and returning to awareness, leaving Atlas as the only solid form that the girl could hide behind.

It continued to strike him as odd that she hid behind him at all.

"The child?" Tenenbaum inquired stiffly. An accusation left unspoken carried easily in her tone.

A secondary scan and Atlas was satisfied that he had been the pincushion through that whole ordeal. The little sister no worse for wear than she'd been upon discovery.

Tiredly he gave her shoulder a small squeeze to see if she'd respond, maybe shriek and flee from him as they seemed to instinctively do. Rather than that she pressed in harder against his side, leaving Atlas decidedly more alarmed than if she had screamed.

Uncomfortable he answered the doctor. "Aye. She's right as rain." A pause and then Atlas remarked more snidely. "I'm doing just wonderfully myself, thanks for asking."

He could practically hear Tenenbaum's disdain through the momentary silence. It made him smile.

With her quiet for a beat, Atlas glanced back to the kid, wondering if she's say anything if spoken to. Wondering if it'd just be the usual garble of nonsense about angels and bubblegum. "Ay…sister, ya with me down there?" He asked, not sure what else to say. Checking in so to speak.

When she looked up at him, Atlas's heart jumped into his throat, choking him. Those luminous eyes lit up the area around her, boring little holes into him despite that likely not being the girl's intent. It felt like judgement and he surely deserved it. He'd never looked at their eyes before. Purposefully turned away, pawned the dirty work off to his men. Actively kept himself clear of their gaze even if he never acknowledged the small act of cowardice.

Looking at her now was hard. He didn't turn away.

He'd almost forgotten the prompt to speak and when her double trilled voice spoke that startled him half as bad as the staring had. "What were you doing by sweet lady's bed?"

That….took a little bit of decoding.

Mostly because the kid said 'sweet lady' rather than 'angel'. He remembered where he'd first seen the kid, standing up in the projection booth right next to the arms dealer's body, and he took 'bed' to mean her corpse. Must have been nice being able to believe in a lie like that.

It was not exactly typical little sister vocabulary and Atlas had to rearrange the words in his head to make sense of them before he could answer. "Ah…just checkin' on her." He replied flatly after a moment, not exactly having a lie on hand for something so bizarre. Then ventured. "And why were you there?" Without a protector, not at a vent, watching him.

"Sister sent me."

 _Right_. Atlas thought and then immediately followed up with. _What?_

His oblivious silence clearly deterred the child none as she went on in a matter of fact tone. "Big sister Eleanor wanted to give her a gift." Not much good a gift could do for a dead woman. And yet Atlas still asked what exactly she meant by that and the girl produced a crumpled flower. It was a pitiful little thing. Torn and missing petals. He imagined it had been in better condition before they'd both nearly died.

Why bring a flower? This time Atlas didn't need to ask. The kid was doing the Rapture of equivalent to leaving a bouquet at someone's grave.

"That….that's a nice gift." He said awkwardly. It was difficult holding a conversation with a drugged-up child carrying a slug around in her stomach. Mostly because he didn't know they _could_ hold conversation. It never occurred to him that these little girls wouldn't be scared of people that weren't splicers. Primarily because everyone was a fucking splicer by this point and more than half of Rapture was out to eat them alive.

Yeah, he could imagine why that might make a little girl less conversational.

Yet here one was, chatting to him. Trusting him. Atlas wasn't sure that was something he was wholly comfortable with. But for the sake of a few answers he decided to roll with it.

Except then the girl looked back towards the theatre, expression nervous. "But…I didn't give it to her." Likely because she'd been a touch busy dealing with everything else. Atlas felt a touch sorry for that, but he thought he'd more than made up for it by keeping her alive – even if under the illusion of it being his son.

Begrudgingly he followed her gaze back to the theatre. Berating himself for a moment longer. He was not exactly biting at the bit to head on back in there…

Sighing he sought out his radio again, pulling it up and wishing he were able to just sleep for a few fucking seconds between this shit. "Hey. Doctor, ya listening in."

"Closely." Right. Of course. Atlas imagined she was probably scribbling notes of some kind. He figured she knew the brats could be spoken to at times – but she always was the type to record every little thing. Fucking scientists.

"Where's the kid at?"

"Delta is making his way through Cohen's Collection." Oh and wouldn't he just be having a marvellous time. Atlas was envious. Truly he was. Nothing he loved more than looking at more of Cohen stroking himself off on a canva-

He remembered the kid at his side and somehow had decency enough to end that thought there.

"And how is he holding up?" Atlas asked as he hoisted himself back up to his feet with a low groan of pain. Better than himself he should hope. The fact he was aching so bad was only made worse when the little monster looked up at him with brows pinched in concern. Well shit, getting pity from demon brats now. His life was a shining beacon of pride.

"Well." Tenenbaum answered. Always to the point. He could appreciate that if nothing else. "Seems Delta handles the new form of ADAM without little adverse effect. Delta has collected much for Stanley to see with relative ease. Stanley should have over the keys soon."

 _Well lucky fucking him_ , Atlas thought a touch bitterly.

Despite his irritability Atlas took this to be a good answer. Better Delta be listening to Stanley's yammering than himself. He wondered if the kid really was collecting that 'incriminating footage' for the loon.

A problem for later. For now Atlas dragged his bag back over to his side, halfheartedly checking that what few things he had was all inside and unbroken. Pointlessly he checked the painting he'd rolled up – seemed to be in no worse a condition than it had been found. Satisfied with what little he had, Atlas got to forcing himself to move.

Straightening up and checking that his damn spine wasn't broken, it was fine though it sure as shit didn't feel it, before finally glancing back down the sister. Still clutching that sad, wilting little flower. It was a fairly pitiful sight and coupled with the faintly scared look she was giving him, as though now he was standing she did not trust him to not strike her, it all looked disconcerting.

"You want to take it to her?" Atlas asked bluntly. No longer addressing Tenenbaum though he could feel her listening to him closely. "I'll take ya back, but you gotta keep quiet, ya hear me? Not a peep." He said it sternly, finger pointed at the child though he somehow felt the severity of his order was lost on her.

Might have done something to do with the way her eyes seemed to light up with a shine that had nothing to do with ADAM or the way her mouth turned upwards into an eager smile.

Christ.

Atlas huffed and turned away, expecting her to follow. If she ran now there wasn't a bleeding thing he could do about it anyway besides manhandle her and what good would that do him? It'd just make him sick to his stomach, cause a scene and likely draw more attention he did not need to them.

He expected her to follow sure enough. What he did _not_ expect, nor want for that matter, was to feel her tiny hand slipping into his own. Atlas had never jumped so badly because of a child before. He looked down to where her small hand held his in disbelief, then to her oblivious little face. He nearly tore his hand back away but chided himself. He didn't want her to stop being so well behaved…but god it felt wrong to be walking hand in hand with the kid.

His skin was crawling and he told himself it was because her fingers were cold and did not feel human. He told himself it had nothing to do with him and all to do with her. Atlas told himself a lot of things now days.

Ignoring his discomfort Atlas began to lead the girl back down the path they'd come. Part of him was morbidly curious to know exactly what his drugged state had changed and what was the same. When they actually reached the theatre his lip curled in disgust seeing that the jester monster was still laying where it had fallen.

But it was all that was left of the nightmares. The puppets he now knew to be nothing more than threads were absent, there were no ghostly figures among the seats. The vibrancy of the theatre had faded back to the decrepit state he first found it in. It was a strange day that found Atlas relieved to see Rapture in its familiar ruins.

By his side the sister seemed to slow. He glanced her from the corner of his eye to see her little shoulders bunched up, nervous as she looked around anxiously. Had he been one of those metal mammoths she'd have been skipping about, but with him she was clearly not so confident in her safety.

Actually, Atlas found himself a touch offended by this. Had he not nearly died protecting her? All things considered he though he did a pretty fucking outstanding job on that front.

Keeping that offence to himself Atlas took them back up to the projection room. Noting dimly that he could see the step his foot had gone right through when he'd run down those steps. Looking at it now he could see just how fragile it had been where his illusion had it looking solid. Yeah, that seemed about right.

Passing it by carefully and turning to hold the girl's hands so she could half step and half jump over it, Atlas continued on upwards, stopping at the projection room door.

Rushing by him the little sister dropped his hand to hold her broken flower with both as she eagerly walked into the projection room and went straight to the body slumped by the wall.

Something tugged at Atlas's chest as he watched her delicately place the flower down on the arms dealer's chest with the upmost care.

It was only then that Atlas's mind so generously opened up a door for him. "Valery." He muttered more to himself than anything else. The name he'd been choked of when he first lay there unaware of the EDEN beginning to warp him. He remembered the ghost. Miss White. Valery White.

A friend. In a sense.

Rather than respond to his murmurings, the little sister sat back on her knees, looking over the woman she thought 'sleeping'. She must have been devoid of ADAM or she'd have been an 'angel'.

Atlas snorted. Of course, she wouldn't have spliced. Stubborn as a mule to the end. He expected no more.

It seemed the sister was taking her time, Atlas wondered if even in their wonderland they could understand something like loss to some degree. He didn't dig. It would take one cold son of a bitch to try and open a dreaming girl's eyes to that reality. "Why'd your sister send a gift?" He asked instead. Looking for answers even in these small ways.

If he couldn't get his own answers, then he could sure as shit look for others. He hadn't forgotten why Sinclair sent him here in the first place. Looking for answers to do with Valery's work on the Vita-Chambers.

He also had not forgotten where he'd come from.

Humming the sister rocked back on her heels and looked to Atlas, smiling obliviously. "Sweet lady helped to wake daddy up!" She chimed and just by that Atlas knew he'd be doing more decoding from her answers. "Sister Eleanor asked her to fix them! Make them work again. He was sleeping for so long."

All of them?

When had they stopped working?

Atlas nearly asked but knew the kid wouldn't have that last answer. It was amazing she had answers at all.

Rather he turned his scrutiny back towards Valery and found that looking at her body was unpleasant. Looking around the projection room he spotted an old oil covered jacket in the corner. Typical. He smiled in a dark, halfhearted sort of way. He could only remember Valery wearing this back in the day.

Seeing her and Sinclair stand at odds had always been a contrast. An amusement.

He felt a pang of… _something_ , knowing he'd have to talk to Sinclair again. Report he found his old colleague and he'd found her in the one of two ways everyone else in Rapture was found. The better of the two, not a splicer.

Taking his first step into the room, Atlas plucked up the jacket and taking it back over to the corpse and sister. The living of the two looked at him in question when he placed the coarse material over Valery. Some part of him felt this insufficient, another part of him thought it a pointless gesture.

Atlas did it all the same.

"Sweet lady looked cold." The sister murmured in approval with another small smile. "All better now."

"Yeah. All better." Atlas echoed, knowing the truth of it but being unable to find the strength to say anything else.

For a moment they both sat there. Atlas feeling the weight of Rapture baring down on him again and the sister watching him. They weren't really little girls but Atlas found they could be eerily like one.

It did not surprise him that Valery had helped this 'Eleanor' in some way. She'd worked on these blasted things as far as he knew. Sinclair had some hand in it as well but Atlas's knowledge on the matter was limited – it was a Ryan made machine. He only knew what little he could garner from his men and eventually from Valery herself.

She'd supplied them well when Ryan's tyranny came down on them. Even though she'd flat out denied him the first time. More interested in protecting people than fighting a war. But when push came to shove….well she shoved the hardest.

Now he found her last moments were spent working on these things? Starting them up again? He wondered what would have pushed her to do so. Knew it would a question that couldn't be answered unless he found Eleanor and he wasn't keen on anymore distractions from the surface.

He could let one secret lie without losing any sleep he was sure.

Sure, and yet he still asked. "What was she doing before she…went to sleep?"

At this the sister paused, thinking. "Hm…a bad lady was here." She admitted. "But sweet lady turned that nasty woman into an angel!" She claimed a moment later.

Frowning, Atlas repeated the title the sister had given someone he was sure had to be a splicer. "Nasty lady…"

"Ah…she had a pretty red dress but she wasn't very pretty."

Now, Atlas knew coincidence was absolutely a thing that he lived with. But he found it was less often an occurrence in Rapture. A nasty lady in a red dress? That sounded a hell of a lot like Ava.

Clearly it hadn't been Ava he was seeing earlier. No great shock but the confirmation sat heavily with him.

So he asked one more question. "The bad person that was bullying us earlier." He tried to use the little sister's language, a dumbed down, more innocent view of reality. "What'd they look like to you?" Atlas was not proud of the fact a little sister had clearer eyes than he did even while drugs were involved.

"Oh." The sister remarked, sounding surprised. "That was uncle Stanley! He's not so nice anymore."

 _Well fuck_. Atlas thought flatly. Then recalled exactly who Stanley was currently slobbering all over and that this someone was still very much oblivious to who he was running errands for.

With a passion, Atlas thought _, well fuck._


	13. Chapter 13

Listening to Stanley again after all this time was…nothing short of agonising.

Sitting back in his seat, Sinclair had to listen to Stanley's fractured ramblings and admiration. The brief pause they'd had, some blessed silence as Delta went about his chores without Stanley's fumbled words was perhaps the best twenty minutes of Sinclair's life.

Granted he'd spent it a touch put off.

While Delta worked, he would occasionally chime in over the radio for pointers here and there with the odd word of distaste for Stanley intermixed here and there for good measure, but when he was quiet it left him with nothing but time to think. There were two thoughts that dominated his mind as he watched through Delta's eyes.

The first was simple enough – what in blazes had happened to Atlas?

Part of Sinclair was incredibly irritated by Atlas's abrupt radio silence. It would have pestered him less had the last thing he heard not been a question from the man running that errand for him. "Who am I looking for?"

A simple question that he thought was perfectly reasonable at the time, although admittedly he had been avoiding names. He usually did now days. But on the slim chance – and chance he wouldn't have put money on – that the old pain in his neck might still be kicking around and continue to pain him, he was willing to be upfront with Atlas.

"You remember Miss White, yes? I should hope so." Sinclair had answered, and it was only when Atlas failed to immediately bite back at him both as confirmation and another chance to snap some rude remark that Sinclair frowned faintly. Beginning to wonder if Atlas had failed to hear him.

When he started to ask just that, Atlas's voice came through the radio again. But not in any comforting way. His tone questioning. "Sinclair?" Atlas called him, voice tinged with irritation. As though it were Sinclair that had kept him waiting rather than the other way around.

There was no great mystery to it. Atlas couldn't hear him. That was concerning.

He heard Atlas try to reach him a few more times but with every word he sounded less present. Further away. Until finally it seemed like Atlas had abandoned the attempts all together. Sinclair vainly tried to raise him through the radio again but was unsurprised when he got no answer in return. Only hearing his name one last time.

And it sounded wrong.

Sounded like Atlas was pleading for something. For him, to be accurate.

At that point Sinclair had set the radio down, leaving it in Tenenbaum's care. The doctor casting him a critical look, one that was both questioning and judgmental. As if she were questioning his logic in leaving her with a direct like to Atlas after she had made it inescapably clear as to how his current status as 'alive' irritated her sensibilities. But Sinclair gave her no explanations.

Some small juvenile part of him thought it served her right. He knew she was keeping cards close to her chest and while he could respect that – his patience for games like that had diminished considerably since Rapture's decline.

So he left the abandoned radio with her and moved to the furthermost train cart he could. A shield of cured little sisters between he and the damn thing. He couldn't stand to be near it, let her figure out the cause for his silence. He would stick with minding Delta, guiding him as he worked through Stanley's ridiculous quest. It was not a wonderful indication as to how his life was panning out that this was to be a solace to him currently. But better he deal with Delta's lack of conversation than sit there and listen to Atlas try to call for him anymore.

Settling himself back down Sinclair took a moment to light up a cigar and ease some of his trodden-on nerves before risking saying a word to the kid. God knows he couldn't be coming off as jittery. Cool and calm – that was what Delta needed right now and Sinclair was nothing if not accommodating to Delta's needs. Anything to keep this ball rolling ever closer to an escape from Rapture.

Satisfied that he wasn't about to flip some switch inside of himself he didn't want to know the reaction for, Sinclair let out a steady stream of smoke before letting his gaze adjust to the feed from Delta's helmet. Still busy on his errands, always so busy.

All this finally brought him to that second thought of his, which was arguably far more critical to his current circumstances than Atlas's peculiarities had been.

Just how far did Stanley's knowledge go?

How much did he know and how much of it would come out of his spliced-up ramblings?

When he blinked Sinclair was sure his mind took the opportunity to further push his buttons, set him further on edge. Behind his closed eyelids Sinclair could still see the flickering film reel that Stanley had put on for them. An already hazy footage becoming more difficult to make out through Delta's eyes. Not that it mattered, Sinclair knew well enough who the stocky boy on the reel had been.

Sighing with a weight that seemed heavy beyond his years, Sinclair sat forward with his fingers pressed to his temples. Trying to massage the headache out through sheer force. It went nowhere.

Part of him, a small and resentful part of him, wished that he'd had the ruthlessness of Ryan or Fontaine the first time Stanley came to him. Wanted to write about his work for that paper he cared about so much. Sinclair let him of course, with a sly smile and the agreement that he'd only write what Sinclair liked the sound of. Nice things. Things he could buy Stanley's pen to write.

He harped on about integrity now, but he'd always been a rat. Ryan sent him all around Rapture to dig up dirt, sneak into people's areas of comfort. Their business, their home, their weird artistic parklands.

Even then it hadn't been hard to pay him off and back then when he'd read over the glowing reviews Stanley left him – he'd been quite pleased with the result.

Now, however, he found himself wishing he'd seen the rat for not what he was but rather what he could be. A problem.

Ryan and Fontaine had ways of making problems disappear. Ryan sent them to him, Fontaine sent them to an early grave. But Sinclair had never been a killer. Never directly and very rarely indirectly. It wasn't part of his business model. He used money and a quick wit to deal with his problems.

For once that seemed to have failed him and now Stanley was out there, spliced off his rocker an' spilling names like 'Johnny Topside' all willy-nilly.

What if the next words he happened to let fall from his loose lips were things like Persephone or test subject?

His headache grew worse.

Fortunately, thus far Stanley was too busy garbling around all of that awe he had jammed down his throat to say anything besides how wonderful it was to have Johnny around to say anything particularly meaningful.

Harping on about how he was just so lucky to be working with his hero Johnny Topside. Fighting some imagined wat with Ava and her band of needle-jabbers. To vaguely quote something he'd said in passing. He said so much in passing. It all blurred.

Still, there were moments that his prattling turned Sinclair's stomach. He'd returned to the radio, erratic and delusional as ever. Telling Delta that he just had to uncover the truth about Ava. Sinclair doubted that the woman was still alive of course, considering they hadn't found any of these parties that Stanley insisted were going on.

But in his mad ravings he always took a moment to tell Johnny about just how wonderful he was. All the while digging the hole Sinclair wanted him to fall into a little deeper. "I can't believe Johnny topside is back." He gushed upon his own return to the radio line. Sinclair had just been getting comfortable without him there. Been thinking about talking to Delta himself before he started ranting again. "That ' _Subject Delta_ ' malarkey is just, just your...serial number! They-they-they covered it up, y'know, turned your story into an urban myth — but I wasn't fooled! No siree! I told 'em you were real! It wasn't just you that she up and erased, y'know... It was Doctor Lamb too - and heaven knows how many others who stood up to Ryan!"

 _Oh yes, sure you did Stanley_. Sinclair thought with a sneer that no one else could see. Something a little colder and angrier than he'd ever let anyone else catch him wearing. Stanley hadn't seen through anything. He hadn't even seemed to have existed for years. Might as well have vanished as suddenly as Johnny Topside had. He didn't tell anyone a damn thing.

Until now that was. _Now_ he couldn't seem to stop telling people things.

There was a break in that seemingly endless stream of pointless words from Stanley and Sinclair took that opportunity to break in. "Son, don't mean to be hurrying you along any, but…ah, well let's just say that ol' Stanley don't seem to be presenting us with many of these hidden parties of debauchery. Might be chasing Ava's hangover, if you catch my meaning." Hard to tell with Delta. But Sinclair had faith he did.

"Now look, chief, we're not exactly men with the luxury of time down here." For a second Sinclair hesitated. Words catching where he'd expected them to flow smoothly. It took a second to recover and when he did he found the words came out unbalanced. As though he didn't quite know what to do with the things he was saying even as he spoke. "You most of all have to understand that. We gotta get you out to Fontaine HQ on the double."

Strangely Sinclair found the thought settled a bit heavily on him. Delta was a machine in more than one sense of the word, but for this case it was a matter of fortitude. He was strong, resilient, resolute – but he was also dying.

Hard to tell at a glance but Sinclair had been with the kid for a while and he'd slowed down considerably. He took blows more quickly, stayed down longer than he should have and at times…it was as though his body had shut down for a moment due to no outside influence.

Sinclair wasn't daft, nor was his memory short. Delta was an Alpha series. A design he'd watched get put together. Seen the fallout after the loss of a little sister. He was watching it now. In slow motion. He knew the steps, the agony, the shut down – as a best-case scenario.

But as he watched Delta's gradual decline now with Eleanor too far away, it reminded him of one of those rare worst-case scenarios.

For a moment Delta's movement paused. A gentle sway as he halted, and Sinclair knew that Delta could not look at him, but that slight tip of his head and the following stillness seemed to be as close as it came. With the man's silence Sinclair was left to conjure up his own accusations and weighted looks.

His mind was rather apt at the practice to his genuine frustration.

"Let's just keep you hustling on, yeah?" He said while thinking himself incredibly transparent. Perhaps his wit wasn't as sharp as it had once been or his words not as charming as he'd once made them.

Couldn't tell one way or the other when Delta continued his heavy meandering pace through the parkland. Leaving Sinclair to once again fill in all the blanks where Delta's words should have been.

It was easy to know that the scathing accusations and sharp resentful remarks his imagination provided were not accurate to the man's thoughts. Just Sinclair's grim thoughts being reflected back to him.

For once he was genuinely relieved when Tenenbaum came to him distract.

That relief lasted only a few seconds as he turned in his seat to be a gentleman and face the lovely lady – only to see that she'd gone an ashen colour. Tenenbaum had never been a rosy cheeked, sun kissed woman. Hard to find and fake in Rapture. But even by the underwater city's standards, Tenenbaum looked deathly pale. It may have been the way her tired eyes were widened and panicked that added to the effect.

Sinclair didn't need to ask if something was wrong. It clearly was and so the question instead became, "What?"

"Quick. Where is Delta?" She asked, her accent seeming to become heavier the deeper her alarm ran.

"The kid is about to get himself a key out of here. Why?" The answer was halfway given when the German woman muscled her way into Sinclair's space, hastily making space for herself at the monitor, seeking out Delta's surroundings thought the beast's own eyes. "Hey, what do you think y-" Sinclair began to protest the incivility but Tenenbaum's steely voice cut clean through his own.

"Look!" She remarked, dragging Sinclair's attention forcefully to the screen and then closer still to the camera held precariously in Delta's large gloved hands. "Do you not see?" She asked, some sort of guttural anger in her question. Though it did not seem to solely be directed to Sinclair, he recognised self-reprimand well enough. What had they missed. "The figure on that lens, is it not Stanley's image?"

"Stanley? That can't be right. He's been holed up in that security booth since we got in." Sinclair breathed in disbelief, forgetting his irritation and leaning forward to look for himself. Properly. The jittery, chaotic movements of a splicer they'd caught in motion that Stanley seemed to think proved Ava's crimes was still dancing there on the reel.

They'd gotten the 'evidence' Stanley wanted but…they might as well have made a series of home videos for the man. "Christ almighty… been following up on a mad man's fairytale." Sinclair muttered, disbelief still strong in the words as he struggled to come to terms with what he saw. "I didn't...even recognize him." Splicers barely resembles the humans they'd once been and although Sinclair never thought for a moment that Stanley's prudish act was anything besides a druggy's deluded ramblings…he hadn't expected Stanley to be this.

Some of the horror waned and in its place was a growing sense of security. A splicer spoke nothing but mad lies after all. Let Stanley talk. Let him jabber on and on till his bit off his own tongue – it would amount to nothing.

Still. One less splicer and set of loose lips in the world would make an old man feel a great deal safer.

As they both stood there, letting this information settle in, the Stanley not on Delta's screen chimed in. "Oho, you caught 'em with their trousers down, Johnny! I just, I just can't hardly wait to see that footage! Ha! Debauched sons of guns! Once the people see what kind of a low-down, splicerized Jezebel she is, why, she'll have to erase herself! Come on back and I'll dry out some popcorn!"

One way or another, the key was about to come into Delta's control but it became a question as to how well Stanley would take to a mirror being turned onto him.

Carefully Sinclair looked to Tenenbaum, seeking out some resistance on her part as he reached for the radio. He was given a stiff nod, assent and the closest to approval she'd ever give no doubt.

The way he spoke to Delta was quieter now. Conspiratorial even, as though Stanley might just overhear his words of caution. "Now, son…" Sinclair began, voice a perfectly crafter mixture of mild concern and tact. Not the voice of a man that intended to point Delta at a target and simply command ' _bite'_.

"Stanley's little expose is all made and done…I don't know if he's gonna like it all that much. I'm fairly certain all you've got on film there is Stanley himself. Spliced off his rocker an' carryin' on in the very manner he seems to despise." Sinclair felt the doctor's gaze on him but did not stop to face her scrutiny. She was sharp as one of her scalpels at times, but Sinclair couldn't stop speaking when his words were a weapon of his own. "What's he gonna do when he sees it?" He finished, planting a simple thought for Delta to dwell on as he turned to head back towards the security booth.

Without missing a beat Tenenbaum stole the airspace from him again. Taking the radio that Sinclair had manned since abandoning the one to Atlas that currently hung silent at the woman's hip. "Sometimes..." She started, voice concerned and steady in a way Sinclair's hadn't been. To put a single word to what made them so unalike, compassionate. "Sometimes it takes the lightbulb moment to see what you become. Perhaps this film will make Stanley see that he is the devil he fears. If this is so, Delta, you do not have to kill him."

Now it was Sinclair's turn to scrutinise Tenenbaum. He knew she did it to undermine him, to try an upheave the subtle groundwork he laid. That he was more than accustomed to working side by side with the woman and yet he felt those words were not strictly for Delta's morals nor his own chastisement.

The radio strapped to Tenenbaum's hip still listening.

Sinclair waited till both radios were muted before he spoke. Voice cheerful but no less grinding on her nerves he suspected. "How long do you want to make the kid watch mommy and daddy squabble, hm? I hear it's quite damaging for little minds."

Tenenbaum did not so much as grace him with a play along. Turning to him, spine stiff and expression pulled into a near violently uniform look. Pursed lips and firmly held muscles speaking legions more than if she'd shrieked at him. Part of Sinclair morbidly wondered what seeing a broad like Tenenbaum shrieking would look like, the rest of him recalled with great detail the reason she'd been released from his employment back when Rapture was still shiny and new.

When finally her ice broke enough to allow the joints in her face to move again, she spoke her judgement just as smoothly and sharply as before. "Rapture suits you ill, herr Sinclair." She told him sternly. Met with a lofted brow and a crooked smile that edged on questioning she went on only to hammer him with words he'd could have gone without hearing. "Nein, it is the solitude that suits you ill. Rapture was a playground for your kind. Relying on others must cause you such great suffering." He bristled but Tenenbaum's cold conviction rolled over his insult, suffocating it before he could breathe life into it with words of his own.

"You believe I do not know of you." She told him slowly, every word a threat he hadn't expected. "Do not think me blind to you, Augustus Sinclair. Do not think you can so easily erase these truths."

The very breath in Sinclair's chest had frozen because when he looked at the steady, ice like gaze of the woman standing firm at his side, he knew she held secrets that could destroy him if they were spoken out loud. Stanley's mad ravings could throw doubt, could shine ugly lights – but it was Tenenbaum's calm clarity that could undo him.

And yet. She'd been the one that initially came to him. She'd found him. It had been this woman that stood there uttering words of destruction should he move too far from his set parameters, that had pulled him first out of the dark little dwelling he'd carved for himself down in Rapture's personal hell.

"You are nuts." Sinclair breathed, unaware he'd spoken till the quiet accusation slipped free. He knew he was staring at her, could practically see his own horrified expression reflected in those determined eyes.

Then Tenenbaum smiled and Sinclair was sure nothing was scarier than that. "Rapture is the city of man-made monsters, this is true. Yet, monsters are given chances here others are not. Were I not to believe this…you and the voice would not be with us today."

He and Atlas…Sinclair couldn't fault Tenenbaum for that. Neither of them were upstanding people. Neither could claim they were even if they argued the reason and rationality behind their cruelty.

Questions were bubbling up. Sinclair wanted to ask, to demand, what it was Tenenbaum was playing at. What she knew about Atlas that he did not, what she knew of him and how much she'd say. Why she seemed willing to offer chances that shouldn't have been given.

All that and more he was unable to ask as through the radio, Stanley was testing his own second chance without even realizing it.

"A-Alright brother!" Stanley chimed, and the man had indeed returned to the security booth, acting to himself as though he'd never left. His shadow shifting around the murky glass, just as animated as he'd been before but now more obviously unnatural using the film as a reference point. "Let's just see what you've got! The n-naked truth on Ava-Marie Tate and her grove of sin! I'll start 'er up!"

Delta seemed to hesitate. Helmet dropping down to his camera. A silent contemplation. There was no other way besides forward but there was no doubt that progress would hurt. Still, Delta stepped forward, offering the evidence Stanley had wanted. The film spinning and throwing up all the dirt he'd wanted to see, the silence that followed promised that he was seeing it for what it actually was.

The figure of Stanley running around the ruins of the Park was the only thing shown on the footage. Delta wasn't even watching the reel play, instead watching for Stanley's reaction.

It took time but slowly, ever so slowly, Stanley began to speak. "B-but...that's me...I didn't do those things...did I?" He whispered. None of the manic glee or determination his voice had jumped with previously to be found. "I'm…no, I'm a family man." He argued with no one. With himself. Looking for some answer that would wash away what he saw with his own two eyes.

But slowly grief and guilt set in like a poison. Sapping the pretty delusions from Stanley's ADAM addled mind. "When did I do this to myself...?"

A lightbulb moment.

What came next was a flood of clarity and panic. Clear and present. "No...little Eleanor! My little girl! I couldn't have sold her to...to those gangsters...does that mean they turned her into one of those little freak-babies! I did that to her?" Delta straightened at the name of his little one. Stepping forward on a reflex like he might be able to somehow pluck her from Stanley's words alone. When he could not the next best thing was what Stanley claimed next.

"Oh God, I have to find her...please, come on up, we have to get out of here. I've got the override key to the railway station."

Delta turned to run. Speed put back into his step at the mere suggestion of getting to his little sister just that bit faster. It was Sinclair's voice that cut through the radio. A shout that would have become warning had he the time. Sinclair was not fooled, Delta and Tenenbaum too hopeful to recognize a con for what it was.

By the time Delta heard the cry the door to the security booth had already been flung open and from inside the splicer that had once been Stanley stood, throwing out an unexpectedly heavy piece of machinery that had once belonged to a control console built into the wall. Upheaved with a strong pull of telekinesis and launched at Delta so quickly that he had little else to do besides brace for the impact and try to land without sustaining too much damage.

Once he hit the ground, only then did his assailant step out. Stanley's blood was thinned, too much ADAM in his system to leave much room for the rest of him. At his feet lay a history of drug abuse. Hypo after hypo left empty and crushed underfoot as he stepped out of the booth, eyes wild and mutated skin stretched into a feral, desperate grin. "Ha! I fooled you! You double-crossin phony!" He shrieked, voice broken up by hysterical fits of giggling as he approached the momentarily dazed big daddy. "The…the...oldest trick in the book! Just you wait until you see what's downstairs, you faker!"

Stanley was barely left. Somewhere in that splicer's shell there was likely the memory of the man he'd been. Those values he thought he held had started to sap away long before ADAM took his human looks. He'd been weak to sins of the flesh from the very beginning – his obsession with Ava-Tate was little more than an extension of this. Even now he was seeking out things to put to blame for his depravities, and now that was to be Delta.

"I know you aren't the _real_ Subject Delta! _He_ was Johnny Topside! _You're_ just some spook who works for Ava, and you're planning to erase me too!" Through Stanley's screaming, Delta had started to right himself. He'd taken harder knocks than this, but his drill had stilled. He watched Stanley in silence, the glow from his port hadn't changed to red just yet, but he could not force it to become a welcoming green either.

The two looked at one another, blamed one another for the same crimes in many ways. Stanley said it couldn't be him – but there was no doubt in anyone's mind. If his cleared enough to see through the EVE and ADAM he'd have seen it too.

It was his fault a little girl had been stolen from her family twice over. Delta should spear him through with his drill where he stood. Put him down right now and be done with it.

Sinclair's mentality.

But while he stood, Delta didn't send the drill whirling to life. Tenenbaum's word might have held him back for a moment but those were just the words of men and women. There were always eyes on Delta that were more valuable than either of those to him. So he waited. Even as Stanley raved about his lies and trickery – Delta held steady and tried to think beyond himself for a moment.

Out there somewhere was his little girl. His little sister. His daughter – whatever Eleanor might be to him. She'd one day have to look at him and see him for all he was.

Delta tried to get Stanley to do the same.

The first step he took forward had him met with another onslaught of debris. Stanley's voice whipping out as he drew up metal and cement from all around him, anything he could hurl at Delta. The splicer's focused telekinesis was harder to avoid with his own. Delta couldn't throw things away from himself with the same precision and speed with which Stanley pelted them and too many failed attempts led to Delta taking one too many blows once again.

Taken down to one knee as a large piece of metal crashed against his leg, taking it out for a moment and forcing the big daddy to use his drill for a crutch. Overhead Stanley shouted. "Well, you got another think coming, buster! I'm not the only one around here who serves the truth!" He declared and in answer to his claims there was a string of hysterical giggles that Delta had never heard before.

Emerging from the doorway behind Stanley a long, lanky figure crawled free. The splicers form was too long to fit through the door properly, needing to twist and contort itself to fit under the low hanging doorway. Once inside the space the first of the jesters let out a shrill scream. Accompanied by one more screaming from Stanley. "Come on, brothers! Get him!"

Now Delta's drill came roaring to life.

His knee ached in protest as he was thrust to it once more but Delta put that pain aside, knowing he had to move or risk being further damaged in his hesitance. The towering splicer wailed as it saw the metal man rush at it. So swift and unnaturally lithe it managed to avoid Delta at first. Crawling its way up the walls, long stilt like legs creating holes in the structure to scuttle its way around. Delta swung, trying to keep track of its head in order to cleanly kill the beast.

The jester was faster still. Delta turned only in time for the thing to try and sink its jagged teeth into Delta's shoulder. Roaring, the big daddy tore away. Most of his body protected perfectly by his suit but where his arm and drill disconnected the suit was at its weakest and the jester was lucky enough to find that small vulnerability.

Again Delta screamed as its broken teeth sank into his arm. The pain came surging through him but Delta did not falter. Instead reaching over with the arm not caught in the beast's maw, grabbing the creature by its mask and with one bright explosion of heat, burned its brains out of its head. Delta felt the heat wash over him, sting his open wounds, but the jester wailed in agony far louder – dropping and writing on the ground with its many long limbs.

Taking this moment, Delta moved to step on it, crush its throat before it could recover enough to become a threat again. The motion nearly carried through until that second monster latched itself onto his back, throwing him off balance and focus.

These splicers were unexpected, Delta had not yet figured out the best way in which to dispatch them. They'd taken him by surprise, in a moment of weakness he'd tried to afford Stanley. Now the second of the two monsters took him to the ground and tore at his already heavily bleeding arm.

All the while Stanley shouted over them. "That film you made was a fake!" He asserted as Delta struggled to try and rip the splicer from his back. "I never did those things! I'm no needle-jabber!" He went on, voice closer as he tried to convince the world and himself of his delusions. Rally, people! He's trying to kill the truth!" Then Delta could see Stanley standing a small distance from the scuffle, nothing coherent in those manic eyes as he spat at Delta.

"I would never sell my little girl!"

Delta had no voice with which to scream, _she's not yours!_

A sudden explosion cracked through the air. Bang went a gun and down went the beast on Delta's back.

Shock rushed through Delta as the creature sagged, not dead but just as surprised as its intended victim. At least until the next two shot rang out, both striking the creature through the temple where it's mask could not protect it. Leaving the jester still and lifeless on Delta's body.

Stanley had stepped away, expression twisted into one of panic. Barely able to hold onto a sense of intimidation when he'd spent his life as a weak-willed man. The reverberance of the final bullet firing hadn't even settled before the owner was speaking.

"Yeah, let ' _the voice'_ tell you a little something about _'the people_.'" Atlas drawled with a careless cruelty. "They ain't listening to your howlin'." With every step Atlas took closer to the scene, there was a loud metallic grinding as he dragged what appeared to be the remains of a security door behind him. Further behind that Delta's ever focused gaze landed on a little sister, huddled close to Atlas but far enough to be out of range of anything he might do.

Coming to a halt by the first fallen jester, Atlas put a stop to its squirming with a boot slammed down against its masked face. All it took was one swift upward jerk of his arm and then downward swing that brought the door down like a guillotine's blade. Silencing the splicer's gurgled moaning. It's blood painting the ground out across him his feet and leaving it to dribble down the steps towards the remaining three.

The sleet dropping carelessly from his arm. Careening forward and taking a large sloppy chunk of flesh from the splicer's throat as it did, detaching head from body as it landed with a thunderous thud hitting the ground below. Atlas's eyes ten times colder than the body crushed beneath.

Only then did the voice look up at them, a mirthful sneer stretched across his face. "Hi there, Ava."

"No…no, no, no…" Stanley began muttering to himself, backing up rapidly. As though fear robbed him of his ability to act. To recall he was not without teeth with which to bite. But he looked at Atlas like a man possessed. Fear loosened his tongue again but did not bring him anymore clarity. "I…no! I'm in charge of the truth! _Me_! I got Lamb locked up, Ava thrown in with her! I…I control the truth!"

He pointed toward Atlas as though he might very well be able to wipe him out on a whim alone. "I….I'm gonna erase this v-very conversation! You-you-you... faker!" Atlas's vicious expression turned cold. But Stanley continued to prattle on. Words he'd used once before when a different delusion had been his skin coming out once again.

"You don't even exist!"

Atlas's eyes snapped wide, a feral anger burning behind them. Stanley must have realised his words stepped on a hidden mine but the mistake had been made and Atlas wasn't about to give Stanley another chance to off him. Once was enough.

There was nothing measured about Atlas's movements. Nothing at all strictly business like in the way he tore the broken door up off the ground and away from the shards of bone and puddle of blood it had fallen into. It was all perfectly personal when he lifted it above his head in the same way one might have a stone with the intention of crushing a bug and smirked manically down at Stanley's now seemingly extremely fragile body.

"Nighty-night, Ava."

What did, however, feel very personal, was when Delta heaved himself to his feet and caught Atlas's arm. The motion brought what should have been a killing blow to a halt. Atlas could not believe what he was seeing. Feeling. Delta's hand stopping his own from putting an end to this little bastard and his whole slew of lies and nightmares.

That felt _extremely_ personal.

Every violent, vicious and venomous word in the English language launched themselves to the forefront of Atlas's mind. But intermixed between those curses were weaker words. Pleas, justifications, anything to just say, _he was going to kill you!_

But not a single one got out. Instead what came out was Stanley's voice.

No more shouting. No more delusions or cries of fakes and lies. A truth he didn't want to accept slowly settling in. It was with a weak, throaty sob that Stanley managed a laugh.

"Thought… thought it'd be easier ya know?" He asked meekly, eyes wet as his voice wobbled with the effort of just being able to speak without breaking into tears. "C-Couldn't pull the trigger myself…back then. So I thought…ha. I really did admire ya, Johnny. I swear I did. Everything just got so...confused." He admitted with a small wave like motion of his hand, like he could pluck the right word from the air but the one he caught was insubstantial.

Neither Atlas nor Delta had moved yet. The weapon that would be used as a means of execution caught between them, should either let go the other would use it to spare or take a life.

This time, it was Stanley that was in control. If only for a few seconds and for the first time in who knows how many years.

"Just…tell Eleanor I didn't mean it, yeah?" Stanley mustered a smile but then seemed to think better of it, a crushing sort of acceptance falling over his face though his smile remained. Tiny and sad. "Or…or don't. No…just let her be happy."

Both Atlas and Delta saw the gun slip into Stanley's hand from his side. Both registered it as a threat and yet neither mistook it as a threat towards themselves. Proven right as the cold metal mouth pressed to Stanley's temple and with little more than a second between it being placed and Stanley taking a small steadying breath – the trigger was pulled.

A sharp crack and then a sudden drop. Just like that.

If Stanley had wanted to control the truth so badly, this was perhaps the only thing he could have done to stop himself creating more lies. It did not make the final act any less pitiful or jarring for either witness.

But for Stanley, it was the closest he could come to a 'light bulb' moment and snuff out the devil he was.


	14. Chapter 14

Atlas found himself actively avoiding the scene they’d just found themselves playing witness to. He’d been completely ready - scratched that, _eager –_ to crush Stanley and his façade of Ava under the heavy metal frame. It was not murder that unsettled him, could hardly be considered murder when in defence of himself and Delta, not to mention the kid.

The kid that Atlas also found himself attempting to avoid. She’d taken to Delta naturally. A little cry of, “Mr. Bubbles!” and she was safely in the gentle giant’s care. Well away from Atlas who kept a good distance from the pair.

No, it was not murder that unsettled him, but rather the eventual path Stanley had taken out. It felt almost cowardly in a sense and Atlas was sure plenty of others in Rapture had opted for a quick pull of a trigger than the hell the city had become. He wasn’t an easy man to shake, but something about it had set him on edge and he couldn’t pin what it was, which only served to make him more agitated.

Was it something Stanley had said?

Pushing the thought aside, Atlas tried to focus on what usually held his attention – surviving.

It couldn’t have been more than ten seconds after Stanley pulled the trigger that Sinclair’s voice had chimed back in. Pulling them both from that frozen state they’d been in. If there was ever a man who brought it onto himself, Sinclair had said, it was Stanley. Hard to argue with that sound logic when it had been Poole’s finger on the trigger. Sinclair had moved on swiftly, no added weight to his conscience and reminded them to get the override key.

A train ride out of here seemed almost too good to be true. Less pleasing was their destination. When Sinclair had told them their next stop, Fontaine Headquarters and supposedly the end of the line, Atlas had swallowed down an agonised groan. After all the effort he went to in order to escape that place – he’d at least hoped he’d never have to willingly return to it.

He made plans to ask Sinclair for a detailed and compelling reason as to why they were doing all of this just as soon as he felt the tension in the air lift. It crossed his mind that he’d been extraordinarily cooperative and more of less following blindly until this point. But what choice had Rapture given him? He had nothing left to fall back on. No cards hidden up his sleeves or contingency plans in place, all he had was the vain hope that either Sinclair or Tenenbaum would come through by getting them topside and not murder him at some point along this road.

However, he thought he deserved at least some explanation here and there. He needed to ask, but refrained from going for the radio until he felt that a sufficient amount of time had passed. Perhaps by then some of his unexpected discomfort around what he’d seen would ease up.

Still he head the crack of Stanley’s gun ringing in his ears and he couldn’t seem to silence it.

He kept himself busy. Scouring the area for supplies before they got on the train. Sinclair urged them to bustle along and the good doctor even chimed in to add her agreement to Sinclair’s urging. He wondered idly if they were both as surprised they agreed on something as she was.

Atlas had been listening to their squabbling after all.

As he searched Atlas would occasionally look up to seek out Delta’s form. Not hard to spot him lumbering around with the child in tow. He’d been in search of a vent in which to free her but seemingly had no such luck. The only one he’d spotted had been broken beyond repair and could not be used safely. So the little girl kept following at his heels, chatting and occasionally singing.

Though at times he caught sight of her looking over at him, and when he saw that he made a point of turning away. Discouraging any ideas of closeness she might get in her head.

Now, Delta wasn’t exactly the most talkative person, being mute and all, but Atlas had the distinct impression that he was being given Delta’s version of the silent treatment. Atlas kept his personal bubble rather expanded currently but some part of him must have expected Delta to push into it because when the big daddy didn’t he was surprised to find he was rather put out by this.

So he tried to kill a splicer, what of it? He’d saved Delta’s hide in a moment of need and for some reason the guy was on a moralistic high ground.

The silence left Atlas to his own mind and even the small victories of finding packs of bullets here and there along with candy bars that were safely wrapped and likely stale as all buggery, couldn’t keep those irritable thoughts at bay. He had time to once again reflect and for once found that he had a bit more information to go off. It was unreliable but at least it was something.

After giving it some thought he came to the abrupt realisation that despite it’s obvious drawbacks, the EDEN he’d taken had loosened his minds grasp on his memories. Just enough that a few fell free. It had snapped back shut apparently because when he reached for more he was once again met with a solid wall that kept him out.

But he recalled a few more names, a few more faces. Nothing particularly awe inspiring or indeed very comforting, but at least it was something.

Ava he recalled more clearly. Must to his great chagrin.

Her parties had been lavish, but his attention seemed to be fixated on something else. Ava had once been so sweet on him, though she’d been sweet on most anyone that could amuse her for more than a few seconds at a time. Men, women, questionable scum and unexpecting innocents alike – anything she could sink her hooks into and distract herself with for a moment. Atlas tried to shake the thoughts off, Ava’s purr of ‘We used to get along so well. Don't you remember the fun we had?’ circling in his head. The carnal implication of those words had to be nothing more than the woman’s crude sense of humour and vanity. He loved his Moira, he would never do anything to hurt her like that. It was only the memory of the vile woman whispering poison to him.

Pushing thoughts of the viper away Atlas tried to turn his mind to the others he recalled. Valery came easily to his mind, snippets of memories with her visage included passing through his mind freely. The sturdy woman’s steadfast glares and confident smirks – the look she’d be wearing when completing some alteration or another to a weapon. The exact opposite of that look when supply guns to a grim cause.

More importantly her connection to Sinclair. To say their relationship was rocky was generous. Sinclair’s efforts to buy Valery out once her weapons design business took off had ended in miserable failure and Atlas felt Sinclair had never really shaken the bitterness of that rejection.

Yet he’d sent him searching and Atlas knew the pair had worked together once push came to shove. He couldn’t help but wonder if all Sinclair’s relationships were built partly on spite and partly on respect. He did not know of one person that did not work with him while holding some form of resentment. A rare few felt both resentment and fondness he recalled vaguely, Atlas did not count himself among that small number of people.

The third piece of information he’d taken from that dizzying experience with Ava was less clear that the last two. Flashes of blue and a woman’s voice in his head. Another ghost he would remember if he could just get his mind to let him back in.

His arm itched. The puncture wound from the newest injections ached. The pain dull but persistent, a promise that if he only took more, the memories would come more easily.

Swallowing thickly Atlas turned back to his busying his hands, sorting through the remains of a bar. Finding a few notes in the cash register. Perhaps enough to buy a few supplies from a circus of values.

Some naïve part of him wondered if he bought a candy bar for the cranky kid maybe he’d lighten back up… Which only brought him to the question of _how_ Delta ate at all. That felt almost like forbidden knowledge and Atlas decided he’d rather not know. Candy bar scratched off the list. Well, unless the kid wanted one before getting stuffed into a vent to safety.

Atlas had just finished snatching the last of the cash and unintentionally let Delta slip from his line of view he caught sight of a little flash of blue and impulsively turned further towards it. He swore he saw the hazy colour flash out of the corner of his eye, passing through the broken doors that lead back towards the meeting point of many locations in the park. Back towards that cursed broken merry-go-round.

Uncertainly Atlas turned to seek out Delta again but found he too had passed into a different room. It felt very much like he was indulging the idea to sneak off. Chasing ghosts.

But Delta had to understand the appeal. So far most of his memories had come from a needle and a hallucination. He had once heard some form of speculation on the ghosts, he was by no means the only one to see them, some bullock about it being caused by ADAM intake. Not that this was particularly shocking. If something strange happened in Rapture, it could almost always be followed back to ADAM somehow.

The boiled down concept was simple enough. ADAM was recycled. Swallowed up from corpses and passed back into the fresh stuff. If you spliced at this point, it had already once belonged to someone else now dead. The idea was that snippets of them lived in that. Memories.

So they were not real ghosts, but they made Atlas’s skin prickle unpleasantly all the same.

Yet he still followed that trace of blue.

Snatching the last of the cash from the rusted metal register and into his pocket, Atlas took off after the colour. Walking quickly to chase after it’s trail. Twice more he thought he caught sight of it. Little more than a twisting light that he could never quite catch in the open. Passing through doors and rooms too quickly.

It lead him right back to the decrepit Carousel and Atlas had long since lost the ability to find himself surprised by his piss poor luck. But the light had stopped moving. The colour had stilled and taken shape again.

Sitting with one leg casually laid over the other, was a woman. She sat upon the tilted amusement ride and despite her empty eyes, Atlas knew she was looking at him, could feel her gaze settle sharply onto him. The supposed memory was waiting.

He thought perhaps it was not for him. That this memory was one of a woman waiting for someone else. But when he moved those pupiless eyes moved with him and Atlas felt his breath catch. The memory idea might hold some truth to it, but as always it seemed Atlas was the unlucky case.

This ghost acknowledged him where the one of Valery had not and when she did, the words came with a healthy dose of amused sarcasm.

“Looks like you’re not so good at handling your ADAM.” She mused, voice a perfect match for the one that had assured him under the façade of Ava that he was indeed still alive. “I reckon it’s having quite the nasty effect on you specifically, bucko. You’re built for the make believe after all.” The ghost smiled at him in a way that was decidedly mocking despite the shine of something like fondness on her face.

Leaning forward till her elbow propped against her knee in a somehow more relaxed way than her previous position, the spirit asked. “Did you learn nothing from the last time?”

This ghost was a bit of a pest, yet it was far more benevolent then the former illusion had been. The soft blue light far more welcoming than the vibrant, violent reds of Ava. But its voice was no less sardonic. What an unpleasant woman to hallucinate about now at all times.

However, this woman was one he recognised. Like so many of his memories it tried to evade him. Slip from his grasp more and more as he grappled with it. He tried to recall why that jeering smile was so familiar to him. Relentless and furious with how his own mind fought him Atlas pushed harder and harder.

It was like he was looking for memories in someone else’s head for all the good it did him. But slowly they did come to him in a name.

“Jaclyn.”

The ghost reacted to the name. _Her_ name. But it reacted like someone offended, as though slighted by the name Atlas had spoken. Though that sneer quickly softened into something like acceptance as Atlas went on. Picking through what memories he could hastily before they tried to pull away from him again. Jaclyn let him, seeming to know it wasn’t for her sake he was speaking.

“We found you.” He whispered, understanding slowly settling in. He knew this woman, but only the last of her. “ _I_ found you. After Ryan…after the flat had been…”

She’d been laying there, evidence of her last-minute splicing scattered around the destroyed apartment. The bodies from her last ditch effort to protect her home and daughter littered around her. But she was one woman against Ryan’s men – the result her cooling body on the scorched floorboards.

No matter how he tried to recall he could not understand _why_ he’d found her that way. Why he’d bothered to go to her apartment after escaping the sunken prison Ryan had left him in. This woman who he’d assured so firmly he could protect. He and his men promised her that her precious little girl wouldn’t end up one of those ghoulies. _He’d given his word._

As it turned out, Atlas’s word wasn’t worth much.

People never did figure it out till it was too late. True he’d not intended to break this particular promise. It hadn’t been his intention, but she’d ended up dead and daughterless all the same.

He tried to remember. Tried to find the reason as to why he’d rushed into that room, gathered up the limp body and felt such rage. Perhaps it was because Ryan was killing off so many in his cause, this was just one more. Insult to injury after being stuck in that department store. A final straw of sorts to his pitiless shell, or perhaps just a crack that he’d quickly patched with greater callousness.

But when he’d lifted her, carefully carrying her to the bedroom and setting her down upon her bed. So delicate, cautious, as though the dead could still feel pain and he dared not cause her any more.

Did those really seem like the actions of a heartless man? Atlas felt like he barely knew himself.

As if sensing his unease, the ghost laughed. A familiar snickering as the woman turned back to face him directly. “Oh relax, Atlas. No hard feelings for what happened, eh? I know you ain’t the person I’m livid with. Would give ‘im a right lashing if he were here right now…but it’s just you. With that pretty Steinman made face.”

Atlas recoiled when the ghost approached him. Not having forgotten the sting of the other. Wondering how much of this could prove to be real and how much was an illusion his mind conjured up for him. Was this more punishment? But the ghost was undeterred and placed both hands over his cheeks, they did not connect but the hovering over her translucent hands left the impression of touch in his mind.

She was studying his face with those empty blue voids of hers. No matter how he searched he could not find evidence of pupils in those dead eyes.

Dead. That’s just what she was. Atlas had set her body to rest himself. As best he could at the time.

“You’re not real. You’re just in my head.”

“There’s plenty in that head of yours that ain’t real, Atlas. Plenty living there too, little nightmares I’d wager.”

As to what that meant Atlas wasn’t given the chance to ask as the ghost moved away from him again with a sharp twist and long stride. Back towards the carousel, staring upwards at the painted and once no doubt beautiful colours. He wondered if she saw it as it was or as it had been.

“Careful with those drugs of yours, bucko. They’re keys to doors you might not fancy any.” Her voice softened, became cautionary and remorseful. “I ain’t a traitorous woman, Atlas. Not to the right people or, unfortunately for us all, the wrong as well. But let me give you a small word of warning - there are some ghosts that won’t be half as friendly as I.”

Then she paused and glanced over her shoulder with a smirk. “But I suppose you may already know that. Don’t feel too bad, old boy – it’s only a memory, so give yourself a little slack. Letting your own mind beat you black and blue won’t do you any favours. But would you mind doing me one small favour? Keep that ridiculous Sinclair alive if you could – I’d hate to see him behind the pearly gates so soon. Heaven knows I couldn’t stand his company.”

Through her tone Atlas had the distinct impression she meant to leave. But she was the clearest memory he’d been able to uncover. This ghost no doubt some way his otherwise untrustworthy mind was trying to give him more. He opened his mouth, reached for her, trying to demand she stay – tell him what he couldn’t remember.

“Looks like my time is up. I bet you’re going to crash something fierce after that trip of yours, enjoy that aftermath.” Already the blue haze was flickering in and out of view with a smile that looked entirely wrong on that usually wicked face.  

Atlas had to try. He stepped towards the carousel he so despised but no longer felt as though there were hands waiting to grab him and pull him down given the chance. The eeriness was gone but his desperation remained. “Wait!” He knew instinctively she would not listen, or could not. She wasn’t real. It was just in his head. Still he tried. “Don't go, please! Jac-”

The time was up. With that smile that felt so wrong to see on the woman’s lips, the light blinked out of existence, with only a parting word from the memory.

“Sorry I went and died on you, you wretched little showman.”

With that she was gone and Atlas was left alone at the carousel. Feeling unlike himself, whatever ‘himself’ even was anymore. He stared at the place the ghost had been and felt nothing for a time. Just a hollowness he couldn’t quite reconcile.

Despite himself Atlas reached up, sore fingers clasping at empty air where the spirit had once been and he wondered why he was yet to see his Moira. Perhaps his mind was unwilling to conjure her up. Either as a form or protection from that pain or punishment for having failed in the first place.

Then came the anger.

Rage, denial, some crippling emotion he could place no name to and his fingers were in his hair before he could think better of it. Pulling harshly as if he could tear the memories out of his head. A scream welled up inside of his throat but never got free. He felt like he would explode at any moment but the pressure never broke. It just kept building and building. He’d have yelled if he could, cried if he weren’t too prideful.

Less and less he felt controlled while more and more he felt unlike himself. Unfamiliar to his own head, itching in his own skin. None of it felt right anymore and he wished – oh God how he _wished_ – for the time with Jack.

It was an unpleasant time as all in Rapture but he remembered it. He knew himself in those moments. He wasn’t unsure or confused or fractured. Everything fit into place. A perfect plan. He knew what he was doing and now nothing made any sense and he thought he was going insane.

It was all too much and Atlas was waiting for the final straw that might break him.

What he had not expected was for that explosion of unfathomable _feeling_ to be abruptly and violently cut short by a little tug at his pants. Jarred from his own state of agony, Atlas uncomprehendingly looked down to the source of the pull, and found a little dirty hand holding onto the fabric of his pants and big yellow eyes looking back up at him.

There was a beat of silence as Atlas failed to process anything after it had all stopped with the little sister tugging at him. Had he just raised his head he’d have seen Delta there, standing at the fringes of his sight, always watching so cautiously.

When he failed to speak, voice caught like a lump in his throat, the child spoke for him. “Sometimes…” She began softly, her voice one of childish caution. The sort young boys and girls used when an adult seemed unable to understand something they saw as obvious but they did not wish to harm them by making obvious how ignorant they were. “Angels speak instead of sing.”

The girl released his clothes and reached for the hand that had pulled from his hair and lay limp at his side. She hesitated briefly, gaze flicking back up towards Atlas cautiously. Maybe even still afraid, but not that she’d be harmed, rather that he’d reject her tiny hand when she slid it into his own. “When they do, it’s sad. Sometimes, angels make people cry. It’s okay, you can cry. Sometimes I cry too.”

Despite himself Atlas felt like he might have had no choice but to give in and do just that. Instead he furiously rubbed the hell of his palm against his eyes, assuring that there were in fact no tears then and bit out. “I ain’t going to weep over nothing, kid.” The words came harshly but the little sister only held his hand tighter rather than recoil from his growling.

It was nothing. It was just one more name to add to the list of people that died around him. It meant nothing. He was just a mess; it was just his head playing tricks on him. Why should he care?

He didn’t kill Valery, he didn’t kill Jaclyn, and he didn’t kill his family. It was all Ryan; none of it was on him.

And yet the weight never seemed to lift no matter how he told himself so.

Besides, his hands weren’t clean either. He had killed people. It was easy to tell himself they weren’t people anymore, easy to justify it at the time when the war was young and he was still living in that certainty that he was right. Now the war had cooled off and died and left him with nothing but the memory of burning flesh and screaming.

His gaze darted back down to the child and again he felt that judgment fall onto him. Swallowing the lump in his throat Atlas eventually managed to calm himself enough that not every word had to be forced out through grit teeth. “Go back to your daddy, kid.”

“You come too.”

Atlas startled. Looking at the girl like she’d decided to speak in a different language. Sometimes it seemed like the little sisters actually were. Undeterred the child tugged at his hand, pulling him back towards Delta though Atlas was reluctant to go. When he opened his mouth to protest she was quick to cut across him with a look that held the threat of a tantrum over his head. “You come back to Mr. Bubbles too!”

In the spirit of keeping every eye in the house dry and no tantrums thrown, Atlas relented and allowed himself to be pulled away. He trailed behind the determined child and tried not to look back towards the carousel. The ghost wasn’t going to be there anymore and Atlas had the sense she wouldn’t be coming back again. She’d said goodbye when she faded and it felt final.

Still, he found it almost…cathartic in a sense. He’d never gotten the chance to say goodbye to them before. Not her, nor his family. He’d been told in the past that goodbye was important, he believed it too, but it felt no less painful now.

The little hand holding his own squeezed and slowly Atlas was again pulled from his thoughts. Focus back on the girl that bossed him around. That thought made him smile in a grim sort of way. He’d known bossy kids in his time, this one was almost as bad.

Of course Atlas was dragged back over to Delta and he shifted uncomfortably once they were close enough to be considered civil again. He almost expected another form of silent treatment or cold shoulder from the metal man. One of these days perhaps he’d learn to stop expecting so little from Delta. Instead of turning away from him, Delta seemed to hesitate. A slow turn of his head toward the sister and then Atlas who refused to look at him in return. Then what could only be considered a sigh came from the larger man as his shoulders raise and lowered in a huff and he reached out, gloved hand resting on Atlas’s head again, startling the Irishman.

There was a sense of patronisation that rose sharply in Atlas and he nearly acted on it to snap at Delta but hesitated when he did look up at him from under that hand. Giving up a moment later with a bitter sigh of his own. “This mean we’re on talking terms again?” He asked dryly and for his snark got his hair thoroughly ruffled and ruined. That seemed to be a yes.

Slowly Delta withdrew his hand and began to turn away when finally Atlas’s voice betrayed him and the words came out despite his desire to swallow them. “Hey! I…” They were not easy words to speak but Atlas pushed them out all the same. Committed once he’d started. “I’m sorry. Don’t get me wrong, I have no fuc-.”

Delta turned sharply and Atlas jumped, only realising a second later as the big daddy looked firmly between he and the child, oh ah….right. “Have no…um…no full understanding about why you wanted to spare him.”

The words were painfully disjointed, there was just no easy substitute for ‘fucking’ that came to mind for him and he could feel the kid watching, as if picking up one something possibly scandalous. Kids picked up swears more quickly than any word in the English language, likely any language in fact, and Atlas was sure Delta would never speak to him again if he caught him teaching bad words to the girl.

Right, okay, small hitch. Atlas tried to move past it and go on. “Look, I don’t get what was going on in your head and I know you can’t tell me but…I was protecting us, alright?” Us. You. The kid.

For a moment Atlas wondered if that was really true. He felt such anger, resentment, towards Stanley. He surely would have killed him without the need to protect them but…he had seen the monsters pin Delta down, heard the girl screaming in fear – nothing was going to stop him from trying to kill Stanley.

It seemed Delta was considering the validity of the claim as well. Although he far more quickly decided it was ernest than Atlas did. Shoulders losing some tension before he nodded slowly.  Accepting both the apology and explanation though Atlas knew it would dissuade Delta none from keeping his somewhat murderous tendencies in check down the line.

Then Delta gestured for the little sister and Atlas to follow and the girl was quick to jerk Atlas along with her by the hand. She was just as quick to take Delta’s hand when offered and suddenly they were all walking hand in hand single file like a fucking kindergarten group. Atlas groaned allowed in dismay and the little sister giggled.

He couldn’t tell for sure but he felt like Delta was laughing as well. “Oh sure, just kick my pride while I’m down you two. Marvellous. You truly are the kindly saints here.” Atlas groused and both seemed to laugh all the more for it. He could have pulled away at any time but that tiny hand kept a hold of him as they walked.

It was just the effort of putting up a fuss was too great. That’s all.

  



	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Take a breath.

The calm they had returned to was to be a short lived one.

Personally, Atlas would have preferred a barrage of splicers or maybe another concussing knock to the head over the interruption he was actually graced with. Unwelcomed, his radio came crackling to life. "Looks like EDEN doesn't agree with you," Sinclair noted the bleedingly obvious and Atlas sighed. Looked like Sinclair was up for chatting again.

Perhaps a 'concussing knock' was a bit over dramatic but it still seemed vaguely more appealing than a chat with Sinclair.

"Say, Atlas, how about you stop by the train for a spell. We're about to disembark regardless, so how about you and I grab a drink." Sinclair's voice suggested, and Atlas was sure he could hear something under the seemingly innocent request. But then again, Sinclair almost always sounded like he was playing a con and admittedly a drink sounded right heavenly to the sore Irishman.

"Sure, why not." Atlas drawled in return. He had a few questions he'd like to throw by Sinclair himself. "Does seem awful cozy in there while we're out here doing the heavy lifting." He noted, already making a beeline for the stationary train.

In answer to Atlas's jab, Sinclair only laughed. A cheerful, wholly unrepentant sound. "Wouldn't be much use out there." He pointed out and Atlas believed him. Sinclair wasn't a fighter; he was more useful on the safe side of the radio. Didn't make Atlas any less irritated by his nonchalance.

Atlas had not yet been on the train and found himself almost surprised when the door slid open for him with unexpected ease. He'd thought it would scream in protest. Despite this relatively intact design, the thing was a wreck. Inside there was rust and dust gathering. Some of it had been kicked up by feet passing back and forth but only enough to push the dust bunnies into corners away from the main pathways.

As the doors opened up to welcome him in, Sinclair was standing there. To keep Atlas from having an unfortunate run in with Tenenbaum he'd assume. The crooked smile sitting on the businessman's face was like a fresh wave of nostalgia and for all his frustration with Sinclair – Atlas welcomed the feeling.

"You've aged." Atlas remarked as he passed the threshold into the train, peering around for any more signs that it was untrustworthy to travel in.

Certainly, Sinclair's years showed. The stress of the fall of Rapture had clearly left its mark and Atlas almost found a spiteful sense of satisfaction seeing Sinclair had outgrown his youthful handsomeness. It had gnawed at him in the past though he wasn't sure why. He was happily married so Sinclair's popularity with the ladies had no effect on him. Yet somehow he still felt irritated thinking of Sinclair pursuing them.

Granted, for all his years, it still wouldn't have taken much work to clean him up into something presentable once again. He was always resilient like that. Atlas liked to believe he was just the same and considering the number of knocks he'd taken recently and that he was still standing – it seemed like he had a right to that belief.

Sinclair let him pass by before responding. "And you haven't." The words were given so casually that for a moment Atlas failed to process the validity of them. He hadn't taken the time to really study his looks in regards to his age but…well Sinclair seemed right. His hands seemed to look exactly the same as he recalled before falling from the vita chamber. The only change to be noted was the scars and while they were horribly jarring to see, under them he looked no more worn.

"Who knew, being dead was the most effective beauty product." Turning back towards Sinclair, Atlas offered up a snide smirk of his own. "Think you can bottle and hawk that, Augustus?"

The laughter he got in answer to that quip was genuine and startling. More startling was the fact that Atlas was so pleased to have gotten that reaction. A swell of pride that was completely unfounded passing through him.

Fortunately before it could manifest into something more substantial, Augustus clapped his open hand down on Atlas's back. With a cheerful quip. "Still got that sharp tongue. If there's anything age should have mellowed I'd have hoped it would be that." He chuckled though Atlas was no longer focused on his words so much as the hand planted between his shoulder blades.

It was admittedly a very firm, near antagonistic, pat but the resulting cringe and hiss of pain seemed to startle Augustus judging by how his hand recoiled a few inches. Atlas's pride made it impossible to meet Sinclair's gaze after the sound of pain had jostled loose. There was absolutely nothing to be ashamed of, anyone would be sore in his position. Yet Atlas's pride continued to bristle as if having taken a blow itself.

"You might just be a little too worse for wear to sell." Augustus ventured and despite the intended snide tenor to the remark, Atlas got the distinct impression that Sinclair actually meant it as some sort of consolation.

Slowly he glanced back at the other, expression guarded. Something about 'friendly' conversation and the offering of alcohol from Sinclair set him on edge. He knew a trap when he saw one. It was just a matter of what it was Sinclair was actually after. That he was still unsure of.

Better he get what he wanted first. "That drink?" He prodded and to Sinclair's credit he was quick to take the lead, taking Atlas into the train that had become something of a children's home in lieu of a true house. It's current status as an ill-fitting child's shelter took Atlas a bit by surprise even after having acknowledged what it was to himself.

The surprise came in the form of Sinclair opening up another door and immediately having a set of tiny bodies rush on past him. In his dumbfounded alarm Atlas nearly missed Augustus's offhanded call to the kids that had practically taken his feet out from under him. "Now I know the doctor told you girls not to run in the train!" He called after the two but they were out and gone into the next cart with little more than a giggle.

Where Sinclair had barely batted an eye, Atlas was left almost panicked. Children. He decided then and there that he was never going to willingly occupy the same room as any child below the age of eighteen for as long as he should live. Christ.

Almost betrayed Atlas looked to Sinclair with an openly scandalised expression. He knew Sinclair was the last person on the planet that wanted to be around children, but he seemed to have left Atlas alone in his unease. Clocking the look Augustus merely tossed him an unapologetic lopsided smirk. "Adapt, old boy." He advised, turning his back to Atlas in that overtly casual way of his. A show of confidence and indifference that irritated Atlas to no end.

'Adapt', Sinclair said. That was just like him wasn't it? Impossible to pin down no matter how people tried. How he'd ever gotten swindled by Lamb was beyond Atlas. He was almost resentful of her simply for having the pleasure before him.

Unfortunately, he and Sinclair weren't the same. Sinclair didn't have to 'adapt' to all that blood on his hands.

Or, Atlas thought with a faltering step, maybe he did.

Questions were brewing in his mind. Some innocent, most not, but all were kept on his tongue for now. Knowing the game Sinclair would play. Ply him with alcohol before putting out probes for what he actually wanted. Fortunate for Atlas it was a two-way street and he knew how Sinclair loved his scotch.

Personally, he would have preferred a memory of his God damn wife over Sinclair's fucking taste in liquor.

They both bottled up their questions, the walk to whatever hole in the train Sinclair had squirrelled away for himself a silent one. Atlas had to watch where he put his feet. Dodging collected children's toys and oddities they had passed off as play things. Even now his timeline wasn't matching up right.

Little sisters weren't in production anymore but the girls he'd seen couldn't have been that old. He'd been 'asleep' for so many years but it seemed Rapture hadn't had the good sense to die in his absence. Rather than that it seemed the city had dragged new life in, using those little girls to stave of stagnation for a few heaving gasps longer.

No more children rushed them by, having returned to wherever it was the mother hen was lurking. Atlas was in no great hurry to see the woman face to face again. One of them was liable to pull a dirty punch on the other and so he stayed at Sinclair's heels where the attacks were, for the most part, kept to their words.

Sure enough Sinclair had found somewhere for himself. His little slice of paradise resided at the far end of the train cart, looked smaller than the rest, a control room that the rest of the train goers would never see. It was in this smaller space that Sinclair had placed what few items he still had to his name and as Atlas stood against the entry frame, watching the man reach through a cluster of bottles that made his mouth water, he noted these dwellings must have been painful for the once proudly affluent Sinclair.

The larger compartments of the train were left to the girls. Toys and what little bedding they could organise strewn around, creating a look that was not all that different to the poor houses Fontaine set up had looked like. Atlas snorted at the thought, those poor houses had done nothing besides funnel men into his cause. They'd practically been begging for a stronger voice to speak up and shape into words their grievances where they could not.

Who could blame them? Atlas made them feel like they were worth a nickel in Ryan's Rapture.

If he made them foolishly believe themselves to be worth a nickel in Rapture, then Sinclair was the one to prove they were only made of wood. They both sold lies when it suited them, Atlas was just unsure as to who sold the better con. Augustus never seemed to fall for his own lies, Atlas was still reeling as he felt his own beginning to unravel.

"The city sinks, and you find the time to stash away booze?" Atlas remarked dryly as Sinclair pulled free, what else, a bottle of scotch.

The bottle came free with a little sound of satisfaction from Sinclair and then a crisp pop as he opened it up. Unfazed by Atlas's comments. "That," Sinclair asserted with a self-assured smile plastered on his face and the bottle in hand as he sat back against the train wall, leaving Atlas to stand against the doorway, "is what we call jealousy, my good man."

Given his stomach turned over and all but tore itself apart in sheer longing the moment the sickly scent of the alcohol reached Atlas, it was quite true.

Being blind drunk was a bad look but one hell of a pastime and he thought he could distantly recall indulging in it plenty. If that foggy memory had more to do with his unreliably memory or just how stupidly drunk he'd been was anyone's best guess. But he distinctly remembered raucous cabaret music at a bar and mad dancing into late nights before crashing somewhere safe and warm. That felt like a very far away memory and he couldn't perfectly recall with whom he'd shared those nights. But he liked to keep them in mind where he could.

If he tried to recapture a snippet of those memories by grabbing the bottle that carried a familiar scent held out to him by Sinclair now, that was no one's business but his own.

Chasing memories in a bottle now after finding them in a needle last time. What a sad sack of shit he was turning out to be.

There was no pretences of good manners of etiquette between them currently. No discussions of getting glasses or not sharing a bottle. The world had gone to hell and they both needed a good drink. Needing to split a bottle was hardly the peak of their problems. And if Sinclair let him take the first swig then Atlas didn't have any complaints to put forward.

That first gulp of burning liquor almost caught him by surprise.

It seared as he took a mouthful in. The agony of it felt extreme after being without a drink to burn his throat with for so long could do that. He wondered idly if this body was fresh in a way. Sure as shit didn't look it, but he drank booze like a first timer who overestimated how much they could take in one go and nearly hacked at the unexpected novelty of it.

There was no taste he took care to notice, it was easily overpowered by the sting of it as he forced the liquid down his unwilling throat. Despite all this even he could tell the drink was watered down considerably. Sinclair must have been nursing it for some time, stretching the drink as much as he could. Worked just swell for Atlas, he planned to drink half of it anyway. Regardless of how that might burn his stomach and throat.

Fuck, if that wasn't the best pain he'd felt since waking up.

And God did Atlas still hurt.

His body ached, the burns on his arm throbbed in protest as if to react to Atlas willingly burning his throat now too. There was blood drying in his hair, on his skin and it had started flaking off in such volume that he actually felt pieces dropping off. Might have imagined he felt lighter with each one.

"Don't remember you being this gung ho about it." Sinclair mused, watching almost lazily as Atlas choked the drink down and then just as casually plucked the bottle from his hands, taking a drink of his own. His sip far more conservative than Atlas's had been.

"Yeah." Atlas grit out roughly with a growl to try and clear the throat he'd just irritated. "Well if you remember anything fucking useful, feel free to speak up."

That seemed to give Sinclair reason for pause. "You really are out of sorts, aren't you?" The question needed no answering. Sinclair only spoke it aloud as if to help cement the idea in his own head. "What do you know?"

To this, Atlas snarled unpleasantly. "The sky still blue?" He asked sharply, spitting the rhetorical question back at Sinclair who for once likely didn't deserve his derision. Not that Sinclair had ever shied away from giving questions that required no answer one to his own liking.

"How would anyone know down here?"

He'd hand Sinclair that if nothing else.

A small silence fell between them as Sinclair took another drink and Atlas allowed him to have two only because they were smaller than his own had been and perhaps because he was actually the one being given the drink so 'generously'. Once Sinclair finished his second swing he didn't hesitate in handing it back over to Atlas, and while he did take the cool glass back into hand he did not immediately bring it to his lips.

Instead looking down the neck of the bottle as if to seek out a perfection in this as well. God forbid even his drink go without poisoning with the current state of his life.

While Atlas stood and stared into the bottle he would take as a lifeline, Sinclair seemed to do just the same, knees drawn up as he started into space. Anyone else would have thought it was a blank, mindless stare but Atlas knew the cogs never stopped turning with this one.

One of them had to speak.

They both knew it. They both had their own questions and less than subtle agendas. It was only a matter of who went first. Atlas felt he'd waited in the dark for everything long enough.

"Did you know?" He asked abruptly and for once it seemed Sinclair was not keeping pace with him, or perhaps lingering one step ahead. He offered up no immediate question of his own to seek clarity, didn't need to. The look he passed Atlas was not a difficult one to read and so he went on. "Valery. Did you know when you sent me up there?"

For a split second there was fire in Sinclair's eyes.

Something vicious and barely controlled. Atlas knew that look as one he wore frequently but he had never seen it in Sinclair before. It hit him for the second time that time had indeed passed. Sinclair was not quite the man he'd once known. Nothing felt like how he'd known it before.

However, the heat dulled quickly. If due to Sinclair's own fatigue or a force of will, it was impossible to know. "Wouldn't waste time if I had." He replied with a sort of nonchalance that Atlas didn't fully buy into. Regardless he took a drink while watching for any more lies in Sinclair's eyes.

He found none when the man went on to say sombrely. "I thought if anyone were stubborn enough to survive Rapture it'd be that mule."

Despite himself, Atlas found he echoed that sentiment. Even the strong died in Rapture, it all came down to luck and just how far someone was willing to go. Valery was a steely, imposing bitch that he wouldn't engage in a physical fight if given the choice – but unlike the two old dogs currently reflecting on her passing – she had a moral or two left by the end.

But they weren't here to reminisce over ghosts. "The kid told me something at least. The old girl got those Vita-Chambers up and running again…how long have they been dead?"

Business was easier, and it showed in how quickly Sinclair provided this answer. No flash of emotion or hesitation. "Since about the same time you clocked off for a while. Seemed like dear ol' Andy had them all shut down just before he croaked. Can't say he was the sanest of minds before the end. Who knows why the he did it."

There were pieces missing, but at least Atlas was getting pieces one at a time. He took another drink before looking for the next one.

"Had her hands in everything by the end, didn't she?" He remarked tiredly. "Ryan's little death-cheat chambers and Fontaine's 'power to the people'. You two certainly had no lack of business opportunities." That was a low remark. He knew it as he said it. Sinclair was about as low as they came, but Valery had never taken action without some intended kindness behind them. Yes, and just look at what good it did her.

"Hand this point to Ryan." Sinclair drawled and the sheer look of insult on Atlas's face caused the man to laugh as he snatched the bottle back into his hand. "Those Vita-Chambers brought our good sport Delta back from behind the pearly gates. I'd challenge a soul to find what good those power to the people machines did besides kick up more tension."

Then they'd served their purpose. Atlas thought viciously though found himself surprised by the level of anger behind the thought. Well, anyone would be angry after having it be suggested Ryan get a point for anything.

For once he managed to swallow down some of his spite and focus a bit more. "The girl also seemed to think Tate had a hand in killing her."

"Unsurprising." Sinclair replied flatly, taking a drink before he chose to go on. "Bet the old girl knocked the ditzy bitch down with her." There was a pause and then a look of derision on Sinclair's face as he lifted the bottle for Atlas to take back. So the cycle continued. "Just in time for that loon to step into the role."

Stanley. Now there was another headache Atlas tried to quell with a drink.

Sinclair filled in for his silence."That little fink was bad news from the start, keeping that override key to himself just to send us on a wild goose chase. If you felt like bleeding him for the trouble, I certainly won't gainsay ya. He brought it all onto himself." Sinclair's opinion was clear. A clean-cut certainty that Atlas had felt seconds before Delta stepped into stop him from bashing Stanley's head in. For what little good it had done them all. Atlas privately wished for that same certainty back.

It was almost cathartic in a sense.

Covering the worst of the landmarks they'd encountered in the past few hours over a drink. If things were less blood covered it might have been akin to taking a trip to the pub after a long day of work. Fighting Mcdonagh's used to be a fine place to get a drink, Atlas wondered how ruined that was as well. Better not to consider it and just remember it in better days.

If he ran his mind over the broken mess that had been the day prior he could put together the world just a bit more. He no longer wondered how sane he was for seeing ghosts nor did he wonder if Ava was truly alive. The answer to most of these questions seemed to be that they were all dead.

Anticlimactic sure, but rather all-encompassing an answer.

As he drank down another gulp of burning liquid his mind idly ran over the names and fit them neatly into a box where he could seal them up like coffins and let them die. Valery. Ava. Stanley-

Eleanor.

"What are we doing here, Sinclair?" He asked abruptly though his tone shifted none. Unwilling to let on how sharply his attention had focused.

When Sinclair scoffed and merely answered they were all stuck down here and trying not to die before reaching for the bottle, Atlas pulled it just out of reach. "What are really doing here?" He asked more slowly, letting the words settle. "I've never known you to be charitable, barely a team player at that – what are you doing cooped up in here with a bunch of brats and the icy broad?"

There was a small pause between them both, sizing the other up. Always waiting for the other to lie to them. "I know what you stand to gain." Same as Atlas really, freedom from this death trap. "But I don't know much else. What are you lot looking for?"

Again there was a shift in expression that seemed more guttural than he'd known Sinclair to be in the past. He dragged his fingers back through his hair, it was clear he'd been going to great lengths to try and keep it neat despite the circumstances. The struggle in the man's eyes was not looking for the clever words he needed to lie with, but seemingly the strength to say an honest word.

Much to Atlas's genuine disbelief he felt Sinclair was telling him the truth when he did find the words.

"It's a deal. A give and take. I get Delta to where he needs to be and he gets us where we need to be. Can't exactly do it alone." He was under no illusions as to how dead he'd be out in the open. Atlas could give credit to Sinclair for not being delusional. "Delta is an old model. Stanley's rantings were right about that much. He's a real old boy and those lot? They got one kid."

Atlas felt uncomfortable.

"They only get the one and if that kid dies or wanders off too far…"

Atlas felt sick. He stopped Sinclair from saying anymore, giving up information he usually would have clung to. "Eleanor."

The name seemed to take Sinclair off guard who fell silent for a beat. Then slowly understanding settled in and he sighed. "Yeah. Eleanor. The girls do like to talk about her, don't they?" He offered with a thin smile. "Yes. Eleanor is his little girl. Unfortunately, there's a minor dispute between who the kid actually belongs to. Her tin man or-"

"-Lamb." Atlas concluded with a heavy sigh. Slumping back against the train cart wall and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Yeah I fuckin' know her ma."

He just, shockingly enough, hadn't recalled Lamb had a daughter until Sinclair started down that path. He didn't much feel like thanking him for freeing up that memory.

Distantly he recalled the debate over what would happen to Lamb's child once she was locked away. If he really strained he remembered some sort of argument of his own.

Perhaps it was Moira.

She always cared so deeply for the wellbeing of children even before having her own. Perhaps she'd been the one flinging accusations around the treatment of the girl. How she would have loathed to see the things he'd done.

But he did it for them. For his family.

And it seemed Delta was doing the same. It wasn't hard to fit the pieces together. This Eleanor was connected to him. Delta needed to get her back.

Idly Atlas thought of the sub and the explosion. It felt strange to find himself genuinely wishing Delta would never experience anything like that.

They wouldn't get out of here till Delta was ready to go, so they had to find the girl. "Marvellous, a rescue mission. You must be so pleased, Sinclair. The closest you ever got to charity."

"It's strictly business."

"Sure." Atlas didn't bother pressing the matter. Say what he will, Sinclair didn't seem quite the same.

For a time there was silence between them. The bottle was getting dangerously low and Atlas did not fancy his chances getting Sinclair to open up a second time. Despite the animosity still crackling in the background between them, the silence was not an uncomfortable one. They were both equally tired and arguably terrible men taking a second to just breathe.

Then finally Sinclair asked a question Atlas barely had a response for. "You really aren't yourself, are you?" There was a stiffness behind the words that Atlas did not understand. "You really don't remember anything?"

"Pieces." Atlas responded on reflex. "It's coming back. Slowly." Really, agonisingly, fucking slowly.

Sinclair thought this over. Then sighed. "I ain't no doctor and I sure as hell won't be a shrink either but…I find it doesn't sit well with me laying blame on a man who don't remember what it is he did."

After a beat Sinclair growled under his breath, scratching his chin and cringing when he found himself in need of a shave. "Tenenbaum has been murmuring about it under her breath since you showed up. If it is right to hold someone accountable for crimes, they don't know they've committed. If they're still that same person."

Atlas wished Sinclair wouldn't speak but he made no attempt to stop him. Partly because the words settled deeply in his mind and offered some reprieve. He'd wondered all this himself. "Memories make us, don't they?"

"You always were more prone to spitting poetry weren't you, Augustus?" Atlas finally broke in with a snide smirk that he needed to force.

Sinclair took the hint and grunted as he sat forward, elbows propped on his knees and weary smirk that showed his age a bit more earnestly. "And you ought to be, 'voice of the people'."

"The voice was supposed to be strong, not poetic."

"What a tragedy. All those ladies swooning for good ol' Atlas fighting for them and he's not the slightest bit romantic."

A bark of laughter left Atlas that truly surprised him. A small bloom of amusement and maybe even a sort of sociability accompanying the words. It felt nice to laugh again. Even if it was with Sinclair.

No. his mind corrected easily. Sinclair has always amused him. In equal measure to how much he irked him. Atlas took this to be a good thing. Though that might have just been the scotch speaking for him.

Once his chuckling tapered off he heard Sinclair laughing too. It was nice that he did not find that annoying. Finally, he spoke again. "I don't suppose you intend to give me a crash course then?"

"Well, I don't have any good things to tell you about the past. So, I think I'll let it lie and see what you are like now."

Sinclair had secrets. Atlas knew that much. But he didn't press for the time being. However, he was…comforted. In a way. Augustus knew him and yet was willing to know him in a new light.

Atlas wanted that. A fresh start did not sound so bad.

And yet he started by drinking the last gulp of Sinclair's scotch that could have easily been split between them. He heard Sinclair make a sound of alarm and great displeasure only to smirk down at the man as he pulled the mouth of the bottle down, gulped with purpose and then licked his lips. Just to really nail it home.

"You're still an asshole." Sinclair accused in an irritated huff, snatching back the now empty bottle, and Atlas's smirk only widened.

Yes. A lovely new start to their partnership.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Scribbles for checking my typos again. You are an angel.


	16. Chapter 16

The satisfaction of the small jab he’d taken at Sinclair lasted up until the world took it upon itself to move them along. Quite literally in this instance.

He heard a call from the front of the train, the doctor saying they were leaving. Atlas didn’t think to argue with her as it would require moving into her direct line of sight and being in the same general vicinity as her. He preferred not to. Even though the thought of having to return to Fontaine’s shell of a company set him on edge. He hadn’t forgotten what he found down there last time.

He had no particular fondness for the place that had spat him back out into the city after a couple of years of hibernation.

It was easy to tell Delta had received this message as well because upon his arrival the train gave a small shudder. Dipping under his heavy footfalls as he first entered. Accompanied by the happy cry of delight from a child. Both father and sister safely inside, they were clear to go.

The rickety train gave a lurch as it shuddered back to life, groaning the whole way. Atlas felt a distinct sense of empathy to the old machine. Both he and Sinclair absentmindedly looked upwards towards where the loudest of clinks and clangs sounded off as the old beast got moving again.

In an effort to console himself, Atlas thought that at the very least he’d not be dealing with those sea monsters lurking outside of Rapture’s shiny walls.

“How long should this take?” Atlas asked, noting with some irritation that the train was practically dragging itself at a snail’s pace. He distinctly recalled these rides being faster than this.

For once Sinclair shared in his frustration rather than mock him for it and sighed, letting his weight slump back against the wall. “Damn thing hasn’t been playing nice after damn near getting drowned. It moves but that’s the best you can say for it.”

“Well colour me comforted.” Atlas drawled, voice tight with irritation. He eyed the metal beast with a newfound distrust. He once again longed for the bathysphere he busted up just to get out of that wretched place. Now here he was being carried back in a far less trustworthy vessel and very much adverse to the idea.

But his wounds ached, his head throbbed, and Atlas didn’t have the energy required to kick up a fuss. Wasn’t worth the effort and so he let it lie. However, what did ignite his desire to find that energy was when Sinclair in turn ignited a cigar.

Tensing Atlas tried not to stare at the sight. Tried to pretend the familiar scent of smoke didn’t wrap him up tight and strangle him. After the stunt he’d pulled with Sinclair’s liquor he didn’t think he could weasel a smoke out of him. He genuinely regretted that moment of cheek, thinking it had cost him a hit of desperately needed nicotine…

Hold on.

“The hell is that?” Atlas asked finally, turning to look down at the other man quizzically. It smelt wrong. After the initial hit of smoke and familiar chemicals reached him Atlas realised it was off. It was not bad per say but it was akin to drinking milk when you expected juice - jarring.

Languishly Sinclair breathed out a puff of the unusual smoke before looking to Atlas, all in his own time. “These?” He mused, an edge of mocking to his rich voice as he lazily gave the burning stick a wave. Seeing as Atlas didn’t seem to recognise the replacement cigar anymore from just this, Sinclair sighed and reached into his pocket to retrieve the packet. He handed it over without a fuss which startled Atlas. He’d though the man would fight him tooth and nail for these.

Turning the packet over he then understood why.  These were not real cigarettes.

“Haven’t been able to get my hands on anything stronger, they help take the edge off. If only out of habit.” Sinclair uttered, almost as though he felt the need to defend himself for using the farce of a cigar.

In his hand Atlas held one of those rare cartons of supposedly ‘safe’ smokes. They were a short-lived venture Sinclair Solutions had put onto the market.

Shockingly most people liked their poisons whole but that wasn’t to say these products had fallen flat. They’d started to pick up popularity among pregnant women. Supposedly a rumour had started going around that cigarette and alcohol was bad for the unborn babes. Atlas was unsure if this rumour had stemmed from Sinclair himself or not, but it had picked up traction all the same and these rare commodities had become a niche market - so naturally Sinclair had jacked up the price.

The thought of mocking Sinclair did cross Atlas’s mind, but he couldn’t quite focus on that option. He realised now that the scent was familiar not because he’d had them himself, but he’d been around women who had used them. It was a fairly unpleasant realisation.

Instead he scrutinised the deceptively clean packaging. Knowing inside that it was likely a different sort of danger. “Aren’t these things infused with EVE?” He asked flatly and was sure he could hear Sinclair’s teeth grind. Just as well the replacement cigar was braced between his fingers and not clenched in his teeth.

But he offered no answer and Atlas took that as confirmation enough. Perhaps Sinclair’s irritation stemmed from the thought that perhaps he’d given something potentially dangerous to expecting mothers. But, no. Of course not. ADAM and EVE were medical marvels, not to be hidden away as some hazardous ingredient but herald as wonderfully innovative.

In this way, if no other, Sinclair had swindled no one.

The train gave a sway as it passed through the final gate of the Park. Finally leaving it behind though it would have been too optimistic to say they were heading somewhere better.

As they rolled along to a slightly less agonising pace, Atlas glanced back to Sinclair and noticed the rigid set of his shoulders. Still clearly agitated and for once Sinclair felt like he might give a little. Perhaps it was because he’d been plied with alcohol that he felt more agreeable.

“If it does take the edge off.” He said, a vague sort of peace offering. “Better than nothing. Reckon it did those gals some good back in the day.”

Atlas wasn’t given the chance to see if his attempt at civility landed or not because the sharp tap of shoes approaching caught both men’s attention. One tensing more so than the other, both knowing that those footsteps could belong no other. Too heavy to be a brat, too light to be delta – the only other adult on the train.

Atlas felt his expression pull into a grimace as Tanenbaum’s pace stopped in the doorway. He made some attempt to warm it into something friendlier, if only to truly drive home the sarcasm of his eventual smile.

“Well if it ain’t the good doctor ‘erself.” Atlas remarked, tossing the cigars back to Sinclair but not without snagging one for himself to slip into his pocket.

There was a decidedly defensive response to seeing Tenenbaum again. One that had him adopting a forcible casual stance, one foot jammed up against the steel wall he leant against with arms folded in a mockery of disinterested confidence, he ignored the contradictory nature of the effort he put into appearing as though he didn’t care.

As reward for his crass attitude he was met with Brigid's pinched expression. A familiar face pulled into a familiar set and yet once he actually saw her Atlas lost his footing.

The arms he’d made a point of crossing falling to his sides as he placed both feet firmly back on the train floor. Turning to give the woman his full attention, aware that he was openly staring at her but equally unable to stop himself.

“Brigid…” He found himself murmuring her name mindless. Too lost for a moment to think of any crude titles or nicknames to put in place of the doctor’s first name which he had no recollection of using before in earnest.

Like Sinclair, time had passed for her.

Those familiar features had softened rather than sharpened with age. She’d never appeared well rested even when she was a young woman. Always steely, closed off, pointed. She’d carried herself in a way that no other had. That was gone now. While her stance still suggested the makings of an immovable woman with a purpose few else could emulate, she was no longer a glacier in a ragged sweater.

Her hair longer, eyes softer, whole demeanour alien to Atlas. He was sure she’d even shrunk, though he would not dare say so currently. There was still a spark of a dangerously sharp woman in her eyes but it was so easily drowned out by everything else. The softness she’d fallen into.

Time had worn on her.

It had smoothed out her harsh edges until the woman before him was more human than he recalled.

The brows that had been pulled tightly towards the centre of Tenenbaum’s forehead smoothed back out as she took in Atlas’s expression herself.

A quick one over and it seemed Brigid had struck right through him and seen all there was to see. Atlas did not know what her conclusion was but the first words she spoke to him were not as biting as expected.

“Time takes us all, voice.” She assured in a way that boarded on compassionate. If nothing else it was a tone of knowing. “All but the dead.”

By his side Sinclair snorted before taking another drag of his stand in cigar. “Makes you feel old, don’t it?” He remarked, and Atlas privately took solace in Sinclair’s voice. Used it to ground himself and shake off the shock of seeing Brigid again, so changed.

The sense of being left behind had been nagging at him since he first fell from the vita-chamber. It became increasingly difficult to ignore as time went on. Brigid had shaken him in a way he hadn’t been prepared for. Perhaps because for him he’d heard her voice, young and sharp, only days ago. Everyone else had moved far beyond where his memories ended, and he was struggling to catch back up.

Shaking himself out of that dazed state Atlas hurried to right his attitude. That small stumble had been a vulnerability he didn’t plan on. “Not heretogive me the boot?” Atlas finally asked once he was sure his voice was just the right level of scornful.

In turn Tenenbaum’s expression hardened and she once again looked more familiar to him. “No.” She dismissed sharply. “What good would it do?” Despite himself Atlas found it strangely amusing to listen to her accented irritation without the radio between them again. “No, I am here to assess you.”

“Me?” Atlas repeated dumbly.

“You.” Tenenbaum reaffirmed, just to make him feel more foolish.

Mercifully she did not leave Atlas more time to kick himself for the stupid reaction. “Your body took much damage. EVE, miraculous as it may be, cannot mend all. Come.”

Tenenbaum turned and strode out of the doorway, expecting Atlas to obediently follow. He almost did before pausing to glance back in Sinclair’s direction. Met only with another puff of smoke and vague gesture for him to get. Atlas smirked to himself and then turned to follow after the old broad.

“Aw, you worried about me, doc?” Atlas probed once he fell into step at the woman’s side, unable to help himself. The side eye he got in return from the doctor was scathing enough that his burned arm throbbed. Ha, that seemed about right.

Clever woman, Tenenbaum did not entertain him with an answer to that. Instead keeping her focus ahead and as always, she disregarded unnecessary distractions. In this case the distraction being Atlas’s very attitude.

Rather than give him the chance to further play on her nerves, Brigid spoke first. Tone firm as she discarded any possibility of pleasantries. “We return to Fontaine Futuristics in search of the child.” She reminded stiffly, as though she expected Atlas to recoil in some way. Yeah. He knew. When Atlas failed to respond Tenenbaum tossed him another sidelong glance. “You have no complaints?”

At that Atlas scoffed. “Well preferably I’d be taking the first ride topside, but seeing as the only ride going seems to be on this ship I’ll just have to stick around, now won’t I?”

Briefly the doctor’s pace stuttered, a minute pause that was quickly pushed aside and moved past. “Here.” Tenenbaum commented simply, gesturing to yet another area of the train that broke away from the main hall. This time Atlas knew what to expect and yet still found himself taken aback by the sheer level of equipment they’d hoarded.

In the small compartment there were stockpiles of bandages, needles of the correct proportion, bottles of what he could only assume were pills, unopened medkits, canteens of water. Among the supplies was a simple table with a blanket haphazardly thrown over it. A makeshift medical bay.

Tenenbaum did not stop Atlas as he almost dazedly stepped inside. Injuries screaming out, demanding attention despite having the most grievous of them mended with that hypo the sister had passed his way in a moment of need.

Taking it all in was no easy task and slowly he turned back towards Brigid, expression not unlike the initial look of shock he’d worn upon seeing her for the first time in years. “How long have you been here?” He asked. Voice bordering on a whisper, unsure if it was horror that prompted him to speak.

“Too long.” Tenenbaum replied, breezing past the alarmed man only to just as flippantly add. “Not long enough. Depends on who you might ask.”

Without giving Atlas the opportunity to ask by what criteria she judged that, Tenenbaum turned back towards him with head raised. “On the table with you. Let us see if cannot find a man under all those scars.”

He wished her the best of luck in searching.

…

…

With Atlas and Tenenbaum’s footsteps fading further into the metal beast, Sinclair was left on his own to try and enjoy the replacement cigar set to the backdrop of the swaying train.

Another puff of smoke into the air and Sinclair watched it dissipate as he wondered how the world might seem to Atlas now. His reaction to seeing the doctor hadn’t gone unnoticed and Sinclair recognised that the world must seem a very different creature to Atlas now.

Not unlike the man himself, Sinclair couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but Atlas truly didn’t seem himself.

Idly he ran over their interactions in the past. A glint of knowing, of certainty in Atlas’s eyes had left an impression but now the man didn’t seem to know anything at all.

Admittedly, it did make him harder to resent.

That look of knowing had dug deep in the past. As bodies piled up and Atlas pushed on forward, acknowledging each loss the same way one would a calculated drop of a pawn as the game progressed – it had Sinclair seething. Their business concluding once he was given the boot from his own establishment. Those nights he’d spent on a friend’s couch some of the worst before Rapture truly hit its boiling point and he was unable to even return to that couch.

And Atlas had barely faltered in his pace. When Sinclair last saw him, there was a feral edge about him – he’d hand the man that much.

But now the names he’d attributed to Atlas were harder to stick. He didn’t know anything. No glint. No strings. Just some lost, pathless man. Sinclair could empathise with that. He put blame on plenty of names in Rapture. Ryan an easy strike, Fontaine next and perhaps the most loathed of the three, then Atlas. Who barely seemed worth hating anymore.

As Rapture burned Atlas had been fighting tooth and nail to drag something from the wreckage.And Sinclair had just sat there.

Alone in the dark with the remains of his enterprise around him.

He had wondered defeatedly if this was how Ryan must have to felt with his creation crumbling around him. But he knew that wouldn’t be the case, Ryan never had seen what became of his livelihood. Not for what it was. Too deep in a bottle and his own paranoia to take notice of the walls being pulled down around him.

But Sinclair watched as his fell away and bars went up in their place. Kicked from his own businesses by a mad woman, sent scrambling to old friends seeking out charity that he’d never have afforded them had the situation been reversed and then even that small comfort had been snatched away from him. 

Leaving him where he sat now, fresh deaths hanging on his mind.  His mind, but not his conscience.

He’d never allow himself to feel guilt for death brought onto people by their own doing. They stepped into their own graves, he had no hand in it. If anything his hand may have been the last that offered to pull them back from lunacy. But he’d not blame himself when that hand fell short – it was not his fault.

He’d never let those ghosts weigh on his conscience.

No matter how deeply the wound ran.

One of the girls rushed by the door to his little hole in the wall, jarring Sinclair from his memories. As if to spite himself, Sinclair stood, bones protesting the movement as he got back to his feet. Walking to the doorway Atlas had spent so long leaning against to do just the same. Looking out into the corridor the girl had rushed through. They weren’t supposed to run in the train, never seemed to stop the girls.

Sinclair watched as she ran right on past him to rejoin the others. A smile on her face despite the decrepit surroundings. The others met her with the same enthusiasm and Sinclair would have found it troubling were those smiles not ones of forced optimism. Of all the people in Rapture, young girls seemed to have the least reasons to smile – but they kept stubbornly on.

He supposed he admired that. Always had found himself a little too easily endeared to the stubborn sort.

Looking up and around the train car Sinclair found himself viewing it just a little differently now. He’d been stuck in here alone for so long he’d forgotten the lights could even be turned on until Tenenbaum found the switch upon her arrival to Rapture. While he’d sat there, scrounged up what he needed to just keep on surviving by a thread, she’d come back at the risk to her own safety and turned on the lights. Even if it had not been for him, the lights had turned on for him all the same.

The world shifted just a little since that first day he’d collapsed there. He couldn’t say it was any better than it had been before, but at least he could see past his own two dirtied hands again.

Just as well because when one of the girls, Lucy, called to him to come play with them he knew he’d need clean hands for a change.

So he snuffed the cigar out.

They didn’t exactly have much in the way of toys for the girls though they complained precious little and made do with what they had. Sinclair had provided the playing cards and laughed to himself when Lucy’s freckled face twisted in displeasure. Not seeing the merit in a stack of cards among a group.

“What? Got something against a good game of cards?” He’d asked with a smile that once upon a time had been reserved for winning over business deals. It felt lighter on him now.

“They’re boring.” Lucy asserted.

Only for the child by her side to chime in to the conversation sharply. “They are _not._ ” The dark-haired girl protested with a quiet anger and Sinclair recalled seeing her setting up the cards before. Making houses as best she could. Often the practice ended in the third young girl sitting among them running through the constructs and toppling it all to the floor in a fit of giggles.

It had been one of the few times the girls began to fight and Tenenbaum lamented their behaviour, being forced to pry them apart before Viola could put a bruise on mischievous little Esme.

While Viola could be rather unsettling at times, Sinclair was inclined to agree with her now. He had to show the other two the value of a simple set of cards. Lives had been staked on these here flimsy cardboard pieces.

For now they could settle for staking that night’s entertainment on them. “Tell you what, kiddo. You let me show you some games and if by the end of it you’re still bored we’ll push tonight’s bedtime far on back, how does that sound?” Sinclair suggested as he left the confines of his little pocket of privacy and walked to join the cluster of girls – willing to be their entertainment for a while at least. Better than sitting on his own and letting ghosts bounce around in his head.

The agreement was instantaneous, and Sinclair knew without a doubt that no matter how much fun was actually had – they’d claimed boredom by the end and demand a later bedtime.

Sinclair also knew the precise look ol’ Tenenbaum would shoot him, but she’d not take away the deal he’d made with the young ones. Trust so hard to build and easy to break, even small infractions would not be forgotten. They had so little reason to trust her after all. Even if the girls didn’t know it themselves, their thoughts mattered to Tenenbaum more than anyone else’s.

So he forced his sore knees to bring him down to the floor and deal out the cards with the sound satisfaction that this was a deal he’d lose nothing in and perhaps gain something. It didn’t dawn on him that the something he sought to acquire was dangerously close to something charitable.

He only stood to gain the happiness of these children.

But if he did not think of it then he’d neither have to deny nor accept that truth and so he set out cards and began to teach three children how best to win in a simple card game.

Truthfully Sinclair did garner some amusement from seeing the different ways the girls tried to play the game. Seeing they had their own personalities once broken from the mould set by those slugs that had sat in their bellies too long.

Esme was ecstatic and resourceful, and most notably a cheater. However, she had no concept of what a poker face was, being caught out by Lucy each time she tried a new underhanded tactic. Viola was quiet, as always, dutifully learning the rules and rarely attempting to bend them. Happy to let the other two squabble as she learnt how to handle her cards carefully and more often than not seemed to win.

It was only when quiet Viola paused, hands lowering her cards just a few inches too far and catching Esme’s eager eye, that Sinclair was forced to actually focus on something. “When will the new girl join us?” Viola asked and Sinclair for a second was thrown through a loop.

The new girl.

He tried not to sigh, knowing that wasn’t exactly the greatest response to that question. The newest little sister Delta had saved- actually, it hadn’t really been Delta had it?

Sinclair swallowed down some resentment. Atlas had protected the girl. That was a good thing objectively speaking from a moral standpoint but…

It was hard not to think that it was just one child he helped against others he hadn’t.

Biting back his personal grievances, Sinclair managed a fairly benign answer for the kid. “Just as soon as ol’ Delta and the good doctor get her feeling good as new.” Sooner rather than later he supposed. “You all be welcoming when she does arrive, yeah?

There was a general consensus of _obviously_ amongst the girls. Bicker at they might, they were about as tight as any family could be. Fair enough given their situation. Sinclair had no doubt the newest girl would be warmly welcomed.

The matter seemed thoroughly settled and the games went on, a nice distraction for any doubts still lingering.

Sinclair only had to quell two arguments between the girls and the wins seemed almost an even split, Sinclair himself making private bets of his own on who would win between the three. Unsurprisingly Viola took the crown. Much to both Lucy and Esme’s dismay.

All in all, the games went over well. Sinclair never really had any trouble besting the three, but their reactions and obvious delight with the game almost had him actively letting losses pile up.

Just as well Tenenbaum had turned on those lights or he wouldn’t have been able to see his own cards in order to play.

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm in over my head with school work right now. Please be gentle.

She was not a tender handed woman their Tennenbaum.

“Ouch! Christ, doc! Leave me to the bleedin’ splicers, they’d be gentler!” Atlas groused again as Tenenbaum poked and prodded at his burns. Truth be told they were giving him far less grief than earlier that day. But now he no longer had adrenaline coursing through him and a desperate need to survive, he was welcome to complain.

Unimpressed, Tenenbaum fixed Atlas with a steely look and he half expected her to pinch just to see if he’d squeal. Call it an experiment.

Despite her displeasure with his yipping and their long running poor relationship - Tenenbaum was quieter than he’d expected. She’d always been focused on her work, but she seemed to be placing a great deal of focus on her poking and prodding. She took to mending him with all the intent of someone who wished to harm. Atlas was not particularly optimistic.

More than anything he just wished she would speak.

The silence was no friend of his currently, unable to guess what was happening in her skull, but more than capable of conjuring up horrible imagined thoughts for her to harbour. Jaw clenched Atlas tried to focus on anything else besides the woman tending to his myriad of scars.

There was only so many times a person could hear the phrase ‘be careful what you wish for’, and still fail to take in that message. When Tenenbaum spoke again he got more than what he’d wanted.

“You are quite fortunate.” She remarked and Atlas scoffed.

“How do you figure? Fortunate ain’t exactly the word I’d be using to describe this.”

Unconcerned for his grousing, Tenenbaum went on almost as though he’d not spoken at all. She had a knack for that. Prioritising her own study about the reactions of any outward source. It was familiar and Atlas found himself pleased that anything was familiar anymore. “ADAM, once introduced to the body, requires upkeep.”

She began to fall into her lecture and Atlas had to cut in. “Yes, doc. I have the 101 on ADAM, I don’t need a damn refresher course. Just tell me what it’s doing to me.” How quickly it is killing me.

Because he did know how it worked. Why it was addicting and why it was deadly. Why splicers twisted and warped till they barely looked human. He understood all that. It needed EVE to sustain itself, to sustain the host as it broke down the cells once introduced.

It quite literally ate people from the inside out if left unfed.

If irritated by his interruption, Tenenbaum showed no sign of it. “Your body shows no sign of outward decay, from what little I can gather through simple examination - your internals seem to be much the same. The ADAM in your body requires the fuel of EVE to maintain its structure while in active use, yes. But without it the ADAM appears to lay dormant rather than seek out other sources of energy and cannibalising the body.”

“Argh.” Atlas groaned, raking a hand down across his face in frustration. Could she never just use layman's terms for him? Just once he’d like to not have to ask her to explain things normally for him. It’s not like he ever went to a damn school. At least...not one he recalls. Fairly sure he hadn’t been a school boy at any time. “English doc, I swear to god, english.”

“You are healthy.”

What?

“Run that by me again? Must’a misheard you there.”

Tenenbaum obliged. “Your body does not appear to show any signs of ADAM withdrawal, or at the very least none that could be considered lethal. I imagine over time this may change, but as you are now? You are healthy.”

Good news. Atlas wasn’t sure when it had happened, but all good news seemed like a sick joke now days. A lie. “That can’t be right.” He protested. “ADAM don’t act like that.”

“True. But there are exceptions to these rules. The little sisters bodies do not degrade with the introduction of ADAM, even in their later stages though they are not unchanged. These exceptions do exist for some.” Tenenbaum was slightly guarded as she went on, sharp eyes studying him closely. “Some like Jack, and so too it would seem, you.”

Jack…

Atlas never stopped to think about it but...yeah. The kid never became a splicer on him. He adopted plasmids left and right, handled them with such ease that he’d never seen on a splicer before. But even when his arms lit up in sparks or he found insects nesting in his veins - the kid never changed beyond that.

Still human. Still conscious. Never a splicer.

Why?

There was a part of him that wanted to believe he knew Jack would be okay. That he hadn’t been helping Jack closer and closer to becoming just one more mindless freak with each injection he took. But that would be a lie. He’d have done anything to reach his family and then to kill Ryan. So he’d let Jack go down that path.

And yet the kid never changed.

Atlas’s head throbbed horribly. His temper flared in retaliation of all the things he did not understand. Why him? Why Jack? When had the ADAM even entered his body and why was he not as mad as Stanley by now?

No memory, a body seemingly ripped to shreds only to be pieced back together and ADAM rushing through his veins he didn’t remember putting there. Atlas could be forgiven for running low on patience and perhaps sanity.

“What the hell happened to me, doc?” He asked flatly and for a moment Tenenbaum’s attentive fingers lifted from his skin. As if needing to pause physically to enable her thought process a moment to wide itself around his question.

Thinking of a lie perhaps?

“You were killed.” Brigid answered finally, no sympathy offered to him.

“Yeah.” Atlas bit back in an unkind scoff. “That I’d gathered. I’m asking you fucking, how.”

Again there was a pause and this time Atlas was certain it must have been in order to craft a lie for him. It was not in the doctor’s nature to lie, she never had the tongue for it. Every word she spoke so crippled by her earnest disinterest in everybody around her that lying seemed impossible for her. Perhaps it was Atlas’s own paranoia that was expecting lies of a woman who never had before.

Finally Tenenbaum withdrew her prodding fingers and stepped back, turning to the shelf by the makeshift examination table. Plucking down a few vials that Atlas could only hope were some sort of numbing agent and contained no EVE. Unlikely, but he could foolishly hope.

“There was a trap.” Tenenbaum began slowly, each word level. No hint of deception in her dead tone, but Atlas still searched for it all the same. “Sprung once Ryan was dead. The boy made his way to me. You did not.”

“There’s more to it than that, doc.” Atlas growled, words tight and eyes narrowed on the woman before him. “I know there is. That...that can’t be all there is. Look at me!” His voice had risen, gesturing furiously to the scars racing up along his arm, as though she’d not spend the past ten minutes studying him inch by inch. “This is not how Jack ever came back! I...I shouldn’t have even been able to come back in one of those things! It was never coded to my genetic makeup!”

Atlas’s head hurt.

Something he’d forgotten pushing at the back of his head he assumed incorrectly. It was not so much what he failed to remember, but failed to see in his own words now. Things his mind still blocked him from when inconsistencies and lies were right in front of him.

Tenenbaum saw all this and frowned at the man. They’d all believed those lies once. The actor he’d been so deeply ingrained into him it was all but impossible to have known. But now the one being fooled was the actor himself.

It’d have been fascinating to study were it not such a precarious balancing act.

The good doctor had a choice to make in a sense. These delusions ran deep within Atlas, perhaps in a way they could be considered true as the man before her remembered no other life but the one he played out.

Perhaps...it was in everyone’s best interest that he remain this way.

“Atlas.” Tenenbaum addressed him directly, a sternness forced onto his name as if to cement it for him. “You are alive now, yes? What does it matter how you came to be so? Many in the city do not have such chances. You have been gifted with one now. Why waste it screaming at the sky?”

There was a struggle playing out in the man’s eyes. Tenenbaum knew those eyes now. Had not noticed it when she first met the lie before her - but they’d always been the same blue eyes. She was a fool for letting Steinman’s work distract her from them.

The struggle he was going through was one she could not empathise with, though it did intrigue her. Seeing someone throw questions back and forth in their head, trying to find grounding in reality when they did not belong there in the first place.

At first she had been skeptical of him. Looking for the ploy he surely must have been using. Now she knew for sure the only person being fooled was Atlas himself.

Finally the man’s shoulders slumped, the struggle won or lost in some regard and he muttered bitterly. “Would be nice if we could actually see the damn sky I’m hollerin’ at.”

“In time.” She assured simply. A sort of carelessly promise that not many would give. After all, she was not yet entirely sure if leaving Atlas at the bottom of the ocean was still the better choice or not. No matter how changed he might be.

She could never be sure if these changes would stick, or if they’d melt away and reveal the monster beneath.

All this talk of the sky gradually shifted Atlas’s focus to another topic. One that left him a little less torn but no less weary. Atlas hesitated, eyeing the woman’s back for a beat. Something unpleasant coiling in his gut. He never had been good handling gratitude.

“You saved the kid’s hide?” He asked quietly, gaze dropping down to his scarred hands. He had not been saved evidently - not by her at least - but she had helped his boy out...so begrudgingly Atlas muttered. “I’ll be thankin’ ya for that.”

There was something about the image of the kid already above the waves that gave Atlas a sense of rest. Whole world gone to hell but Jack was worlds away from it. Why the poor sod ever ended up in Rapture in the first place was beyond Atlas. But he’d never stopped to ponder it, not one to question a bit of good fortune when his luck had run so dry. His fortune had been Jack’s misfortune in that sense.

But he’d escaped Rapture as quickly as he’d come to be there, back to whatever life he had up there in the sun. Atlas vaguely wondered what sort of family Jack had. He’d never even asked. The assumption was an easy, albeit rather cliche one, that Jack was some good and well mannered farm bred boy. Likely a mama's boy that did his chores without complaint.

He never had complained when Atlas set out his tasks.

Maybe there was some girl up there he fancied. It seemed like Jack to picture a perfect family unit. White picket fence and all. Tiredly Atlas thought that if Jack was truly home free - he’d never want to see his sorry self ever again.

Why see a relic of the underwater hell he escaped?

This train of thought led Atlas to laugh dryly and pull his fingers back through his hair. “Ah shit...kid thinks I’m dead as dust, don’t he?” Atlas mused with a grim sort of humour. “Reckon it’s better that way.” At least one of them didn’t have to be seeing ghosts.

If Jack had a happy home up there, Atlas had no place in it. Getting to the surface was all he had left now.

This seemed to prompt a genuine emotion out of Brigid who turned back to look at him. The features of her face that had been softened with age pulled into surprise. More expressive with age too it would appear.

Setting down the vials by Atlas’s side and plucking up a needle that Atlas attempted not to wince at, Tenenbaum mused aloud, “You truly are not the man you were.”

“People been saying that an awful lot lately.” Atlas replied wearily. “And I’ll be straight with ya, I’m not much feeling myself lately either.”

“Second chances, herr Atlas.” Tenenbaum mused just as he jabbed the hypo into Atlas and could not help but smile when the man yelped. He never had been good with medical practices.

Irritated by the jab and unwilling to look even as the introduction of the med hypo soothed his lingering aches and pains. It was just unsettling, seeing something being slowly pushed into his body. He’d rather stare at the wall, or in this case scowl at the doctor. “You’re just having a bucket of fun with this, ain’tcha?” Atas muttered, shooting Brigid a scalding look at that wasn’t returned. “Alright, fair. Have your damn payback.” It was hardly the least of what he deserved.

He settled down, exhausted in more ways than one and let Tenenbaum fix up what she could. He felt a little better when the hypo began circling through his body and that in turn made him sick again. Tenenbaum said the ADAM in him wasn’t behaving as it normally did and judging by her ramblings, it meant he was not a splicer in the making. Not yet. But that didn’t detract from the dread he felt knowing that his body scrambled to accept any shred of EVE it could.

And yet, he did feel better. His head felt less chaotic and his injures complained less loudly. So for now at least he accepted the help.

As he stared blankly past Tennenbaum’s shoulder and out the door to the hallway that ran down the length of the train he could just make out the sounds of the girls playing.

They’d made a ruckus before, running around. But now they were quieter. He would occasionally hear a giggle or muffled words of argument, but otherwise they’d calmed. He wondered how late it was now. Time in Rapture manufactured. It felt like it should be late. Night time.

They all needed rest.

Perhaps it was because he was so tired that when his eyes began to slide shut, letting a moment of weakness in as Tenenbaum wrapped his arm back up, that for a split second he swore there was a figure standing in the doorway.

At first he wondered if Sinclair had come to see if he kicked the bucket yet. But no, the figure was too still for that. Too lean, and still. A statue like silhouette standing there, watching them.

Delta? He thought blearily but that was even less likely. Delta was an imposing figure he’d have mistaken for no other and the lack of a brat hanging around at his heels was a dead give away.

It all felt so far away. Atlas’s eyes began to slide shut a little more shut as he tried to place the form. He felt so tired, like it would be good to just close his eyes and drift off. Maybe just never come back.

In the doorway the figure tilted its head, following Atlas’s as it tipped off to the side in exhaustion. He couldn’t make out any of their features. There was not much light in this train but there was enough to see certainly, but Atlas could not make this person out.

Not Delta. Not Sinclair...and Tenenbaum was right here at his side. No other adults were to be on this train.

Just as the weight of that thought settled in - the figure grinned.  
The only thing he could see against that silhouette a row of gleaming teeth pulled back into an unpleasant sneer.

Atlas’s heart jumped and his body followed suit flinching violently as his spine straightened out with a snap, eyes once again wide open. Like a child bolting upright in bed to escape their nightmares only to have the afterimage of them imprinted on their eyelids. Atlas looked at the devil in the doorway, willing it to vanish away.

It felt as though he would be swallowed up by the nightmare if it remained.

His abrupt movement startled Tenenbaum from her otherwise silent work. “Herr Atlas…?” She questioned, looking to his face though he did not meet her gaze.

Staring unblinkingly at the doorway. But nothing was there.

Even to Atlas’s eyes, the figure was gone once he was truly conscious again. In the figure’s place was the empty doorway and the rusted walls of the train around them. The draining feeling that had been urging him to nod off long gone and in its place a jittery panic that kept sparking through his limb

Brigid tried again. “Are you alright, voice?” Atlas did not even register the adopted nickname for him. Both an insult and a reminder of sorts - though Tenenbaum yielded it as neither currently. She simply sought answers from him. Answers he didn’t really have.

How did one tell a doctor they were seeing things that weren’t there? Ghosts that spoke to him in length, figures lingering in doorways. Boys in the place of little sisters. Hearing things, seeing things, feeling things.

How did one tell a doctor they were crazy?

“I...I thought…” Atlas tried, voice tight and heart pounding feverishly against his ribs. Fear. That was definitely fear. “It’s nothing.” He finally decided, trying to forcibly settle his nerves. “Just tired, nearly nodded off. Damn near fell off the table. That’s all.”

Atlas did not need to look at her to know she did not believe his flimsy lies. He’d been shaken, his words not as convincing as they should have been. Yet Brigid did not push him. Instead she nodded curtly and finished wrapping his arm. “You are in need of rest.” She informed like he didn’t know that already. “Tomorrow we reach Fontaine Futuristics, and too, Eleanor.”

Biting down a shudder, Atlas tried not to remember the great lengths he’d gone to just to escape that place. It felt less daunting knowing he’d be returning with a drill wielding beast at his side. Give Alex’s mad dogs a run for their money. Personally Atlas thought Delta could put other big daddies to shame.

“Save Delta’s kid...yeah. Got it.”

Atlas surprised himself when he realised that he actually felt the desire to do just that. Perhaps this time once they reached a family in need it would end better than his own had. He truly wanted that for Delta. Too tired to put effort into the act of not caring. He could pretend once he’d rested, for now he simply admitted that he wanted to see Delta hug that girl of his again.

He could help him do that. There was little Atlas could control of achieve - this felt like something he just might be able to.

“Don’t suppose there’s any beds here?” He ventured with a strained huff of laughter.

“None for us adults, no.”

At that Atlas did laugh. The girls at least had something soft to sleep on. He’d have to make do with the ground. Well, he’d had worse. After a moment however, Tenenbaum sized him up, a familiar pinch in her brow forming and then told him simply. “I shall see if we do not have a spare blanket for you.”

Surprised Atlas glanced to her again. Not expecting her to put the effort in. He was met with a strained, somewhat judgmental smile. “Human compassion is hardly my strong suite - but it can be learnt.”

He had a suspicion that she was expecting him to learn it too.

With that Atlas jumped off the examination table, shrugging his clothes back into place and attempting to brush them off before noting the pointlessness of the gesture. No getting these old rags clean without tossing them in a fireplace. New clothes would be a right luxury about then. As would a hot shower. Couldn’t remember the last time he had one of those. Granted his memory wasn’t the best, but still. Disgusting.

Glancing to Tenenbaum Atlas mustered up a smile that was only half of his usual sardonic smirk. “Don’t be losing any sleep over little ol’ me.”

“Believe me, I would not.”

“That’a girl.” Atlas laughed, offering Tenenbaum a careless wave as he stepped out of her makeshift medbay. Though he did stop at the edge of the doorway and part with a simple. “Thanks for the patch job, doc.” It was the most she’d be getting out of him for now.

Without sticking around to gauge her reaction to the quick word of thanks, Atlas turned on his heel and marched off. Refusing to think of his hasty withdrawal as a retreat.

Thoughtlessly he made a path towards Sinclair’s hide away only to stop halfway there and catch sight of the man himself sitting cross legged with a cluster of girls around him. The sight so truly bizarre that Atlas stopped in his tracks.

With hands stuffed into his pockets, Atlas spent a moment observing this new behaviour. Sinclair never had a soft spot for kids. Not to say he disliked them either. He just...didn’t seem to know what to make of the tiny humans in the making. He’d sold things to them so there was no way he could dislike the kids, but that didn’t mean he knew the first thing about them.

Certainly didn’t want any of his own. Other little minds to ask questions and mouths to be fed? There was probably nothing that scared Sinclair more besides straight up bankruptcy.

Despite himself the thought had Atlas snickering under his breath. Well, even if Sinclair was desperately wishing for an escape under that contented look, Atlas wouldn’t be offering him one. Kids were well beyond his expertise.

No. Wait. Atlas shook his head slightly. Righting that thought. Kids had been beyond him. His Patrick changed that. He was- had been - a father.

Maybe he never should have been.

Before those thoughts could become too overwhelming, Atlas felt the telltale shift of the train under his feet. A soft thud and shake that each of Delta’s steps made.

Bless the big idiot - he was actually trying to be gentle. The big daddy equivalent of tiptoeing. Regardless of his best efforts, the kid wouldn’t be sneaking up on anyone any time soon.

“Hey there, kiddo.” Atlas drawled and the hitch to Delta’s failed stealth sounded sheepish in a way. Amazing how much meaning Delta’s little actions could provide, didn’t even need a damn voice did he?

Glancing over his shoulder Atlas sought out the little sister’s figure, expecting her to be hanging off her guardian, only to notice she was not in fact with him. Confused Atlas’s eyes flicked up to Delta again. Noting that he appeared to be watching Sinclair just as he’d been moments earlier.

“No straggler?” He asked cautiously, not sure what it meant if a kid was not with Delta. It made him uncomfortable.

Swaying slightly to the side, the cramped space of the train giving him little room to move about, Delta pointed in the direction Atlas had just come. There he could just make out the back of the little sister’s torn dress standing in Tenenbaum’s doorway.

It took a moment for Atlas to grasp what they were doing. Sisters healed rapidly, little girls did not. Better to ensure she was coming back in the best condition.

“Ah. Makes sense…” Atlas murmured to himself. Delta was being careful in a sense. Having the doctor ensure the little one was physically healthy before going through with the little spell lifting gift they apparently had.

Smart. And they had the luxury of being able to do so. The train safe enough and full of protectors. Once she was given the all clear she’d be able to join those other girls in pestering Sinclair for entertainment. Not the best role model, granted, but at least someone to bother that wasn’t Atlas.

Sighing tiredly Atlas glanced between Delta and the gathering of kids playing cards. The world had changed so much since he left it temporarily. “You tired, Delta?” He asked and was met with a low rumble that sounded as close to a sigh as Delta could manage. “Yeah, me too.”

The conversation could have ended there. Atlas might have let it but after a short pause he added more quietly. “Gonna get your kid back tomorrow, yeah?” It was more a promise than a question, Delta seemed to understand it well enough.

This time when that large gloved hand rest atop his head Atlas just snorted and accepted the gesture. “Don’t you dare ruffle.” He warned however. Like he wasn’t a mess enough without Delta purposefully fluffing up his hair. Just one gigantic brat this one.

Mercifully Delta obliged and when his hand did move it was gently, a slight patting motion that was absolutely demeaning and something Atlas would have shot others for - but for Delta? For Dealt he just rolled his eyes and let the urge for the big daddy to show some sort of affection play out.

Affection he was still getting used to again. Like many things, he couldn’t recall when he’d last had it. His memory might be about as trustworthy as Cohen’s parties, but he knew for a fact he hadn’t felt he could sleep without a gun at his hip in years.

However, he felt he could sleep easy for a while. Just for a few hours, he’d take what he could get.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mini update because starting this weekend it's assessment week and I need to focus on that but I can't be leaving this high and dry for a whole other week. Be back soon I hope.

While Sinclair was dealing with the majority of the girls, Atlas lingered by Delta. It might have been a matter of self preservation, knowing that he was unlikely to be attacked by anyone so long as Delta stood by him. However being by Delta brought with it some negative side effects.

Negative for him to witness at least, positive for most everyone else involved.

It was time that the young girl that had been nipping at their heels reach the end of  her time in that freaky limbo the little sisters inhabited.

Atlas watched with his shoulder pressed against the wall as she came rushing out from the krauts den and straight up to her daddy. Delta took a smooth step back, taking a knee and offering his hand to her. Watching her so readily clamber into that open palm left Atlas feel a bit odd. That easy trust left him uncomfortable. Those girls gave trust with such ease but there was practically no one in Rapture that deserved it.

Delta was the best they had and the thought caused Atlas to smile with a soft snort.

Gently taking the girl up to his chest, Delta walked back down the corridor, heavy footfalls still trying to be soft in the small space they had to work with. Thoughtlessly Atlas pushed off the wall on impulse and trailed after Delta at his heels. Curious he tried to figure out where the metal man was taking the little tyke.

It never occurred to Atlas that Delta had a _preference_ as to where the girls were saved. Some inbuilt instinct to find a safe place. Somewhere enclosed, close to an easy escape that only the girls could take. It should not have surprised him when Delta took her to the back of the train. A look up and Atlas caught sight of a vent.

The rusted hole was nothing like the prettied up vents the girls used. Instead it was an appealing, dirty looking indentation in the side of the train. Atlas knew the thing was supposedly water tight and so the train had to close up somewhere on the other side of that port. A place that Tenenbaum could open and close at will to let the saved girls into the train.

Once standing by the vent Delta carefully took the girl away from his shoulder, cradled gently in his arm as he let her down onto her own two feet. She was staring up at her daddy, expression one of curious bewilderment. Clearly wondering what her guardian was doing.

Atlas knew that look and his chest tightened sharply. He knew that emotion well enough - disgust. Guilt gnawed at him violently and his gaze was dropped as he took up a position against the wall behind Delta and the girl. Arms firmly crossed and eyes fixed on the ground.

Just as well he had kept his gaze averted because when the gentle giant placed his hand atop the girl’s head in a way that  mimicked how Jack had once soothed the girls, the world briefly turned white around him. A bright spark of light flooding out from under Delta’s finger tips.

It was just the same as it had been with Jack. Glowing eyes burning gold and then a blast of light. A violent motion followed by soft  quiet and momentary stillness.

A  small act of kindness completed.

Slowly Atlas’s eyes slipped back up, away from the dirty floor and over to the two figures ahead of him. Delta’s massive form still hunched down to the ground with both arms carefully encircling the child. Atlas noticed only then the lack of the drill. Seemed a rather massive thing to just not notice, but he truly hadn’t. Didn’t realise those things could be popped off. But at least it meant Delta still had both his arms under there.

Then there was the girl. Her tiny form tensed up and dazed, then she was opening her eyes. Blinking awake. Her eyes no longer the empty yellow hued gaze of a little sister, but her own eyes. Clear and alive once again.

Despite himself Atlas stared at her. Maybe it was the contrast between her doe like brown eyes to the ones of a little sister. Maybe it was how much more alive she looked without that sickly hue all little sisters lived with. She did not look healthy yet, still weak and in need of mending time, but she looked human once again.

All these changes meant nothing to Delta who only gently ruffled the girl’s hair. He had no face to see for sure, but Atlas felt he was smiling just as tenderly at the child he’d protected and would continue to defend. Being a little sister or not meant nothing to Delta. He was just a good person.

Doing the right thing and protecting children from those that would use them. Atlas’s stomach clenched again and he knew some way or another he’d have to get over that reaction at some point.

What he wasn’t expecting was the girl’s voice to speak out. Without the little sistered trilled tone Atlas didn’t recognise her voice for a moment.

“Thank you.” She chimed, voice rough and tired, that of a child in need of rest, but earnest. “Thank you so, so much.” With her tiny hands, the girl clutched Delta’s large gloved fingers. Atlas could see her trembling on those bruised, dirty legs and wondered if she’d be able to stand much longer.

Seemed Delta had the same thought because he offered both his arms out to the girl and this time when she clambered into them, there was a pause of hesitation. A human reaction, but the trust was given all the same.

A beast of Delta’s size shouldn’t have been able to be so delicate but he held the newly saved girl carefully, handling something of great importance that was terribly fragile.

Once in his arms the girl seemed to lose what little strength she had left, head dropping down against Delta’s shoulder and letting her eyes slide shut.

Watching as Delta carried her across the room towards one of those makeshift beds Tenenbaum had made mention off, Atlas couldn’t help but feel even more uncomfortable.

He’d seen Jack save children before, but that was across as screen. Felt disconnected, like he wasn’t really seeing it at all, but now it happened right in front of him and he could see for himself the results. They’d never had this option when Rapture was in the early days of its downfall. It was something only Jack and Delta had been able to do.

Despite this,  Atlas couldn’t say if he’d have done anything different if  he’d had this path open to him during the war. That was what made it all the more disgusting.

For now he could only watch as Delta placed the girl down on the lumpy mattress. There were four or so strewn around but Atlas didn’t feel much like fighting for one. His body ached and protested even the act of standing, but he was no longer in such a horrendous state that he could not live through a night on the train floor.

This was the only place these girls could feel secure. This train might as well have been as much their guardian as Delta was.They deserved to rest  here. Where they would be safe for a time.

They were providing that time and Atlas, like everyone else, could feel it beginning to run short.

Before that depressing thought could kick in Atlas was given yet another unexpected shock - again from the child. “Hey…” That tired voice spoke out again and Atlas only happened to glance her way as a knee jerk reaction. Not because he thought the kid was talking to him. But those big brown eyes were trained on him. Exhausted but focused.

Confused, Atlas stayed stock still. Like he’d just been caught doing something he shouldn’t. That feeling went nowhere fast even when the girl spoke again.

“Thanks.”

He wasn’t able to process that. Delta had been thanked, that he understood. But when the girl threw gratitude in his direction Atlas wasn’t sure what to do with it.

Briefly a furious heat welled up inside of him. He wanted to scream. To shout at her that there was nothing in this world he should be thanked for. She’d not thank him so quickly if she knew how red his hands were. To rage about how much blood he’d drawn and how, seven years earlier it could have so easily been _hers_.

The violent emotion raged in his mind for no more than a few seconds before he swallowed it back down and looked away from her. “Don’t mention it, kid.” He uttered stiffly, but received no answer. Figures she’d fall asleep just when he mustered the self control to answer.

Sighing sharply Atlas tipped his head back against the wall and tried to get himself to calm the hell down. He was a right mess but at least he knew it.

Abruptly he found the space next to him no longer empty. Tenenbaum had decided to leave her den and grace him with her presence once again it seemed.

Surprisingly Atlas didn’t mind all that much. Too tired to get fired up again.

It helped that Tenenbaum seemed equally willing to let the bad blood between them lie dormant for a while in favour of rest for all. That did not mean Atlas was unwilling to speak to her.

“Kid has an accent…” He breathed in disbelief. Atlas was taken aback by that.

The kids he knew in Rapture all grew up with the same accent for the most part. Some inherited their parents tongue if they were lucky, but living as close as everyone did in their little fish tank - the accents all mixed and mashed until the kids sounded much the same.

So the fact this kid had a distinctly french accent was a small shock to Atlas’s system.

That got him thinking once again. Thinking about his own conclusion that the city had dragged new children into its ever cannibalistic machine. He hadn’t actually asked _where_ it found these kids. The logical answer had unconsciously settled in his mind already but all the fallacies that ‘logical answer’ carried with it left him at a loss.

“Seven years.” Atlas breathed and his gaze snapped back to Tenenbaum. “Where did these girls come from?”

A ghost of something miserable crossed Tenenbaum’s face. He knew guilt and disgust perfectly well, he was also no stranger to shame.

“Snatched.” She answered, her own accent thick in the word. “From the surface, by Lamb’s monster. The little ones call it big sister.”

More monsters. Just what they needed down here. Atlas had to push the thought of that water creature back down into the recesses of his mind. He didn’t think Rapture could get much crazier but clearly it had in the last few years.

He couldn't imagine it, someone with a child of their own stealing other's babies. Lamb must have just been a sociopath dressed up in some altruistic sheeps skin. Despite himself, Atlas thought of his Moira and how avidly she'd defend her child. His chest tightened as it always did thinking of them and his mind turned fuzzy at the edges, not letting him back into those sweeter memories.

If it had been his Moira that Lamb had snatched a child from she'd be a dead bitch. Atlas couldn't help but smile faintly at that - it'd be a crime not to follow through with what Moira would have done. Anything for her kid.

Anything for his kid. 

The wicked amusement drained for Atlas rapidly and while he held on to the idea it had spawned, he no longer smiled over it. Instead stared over at the sleeping girl, her guardian sitting his massive frame down by her tiny one, keeping watch as she slept. As he stared Atlas couldn't help but wonder if he'd done just the same as a father. If he'd sat at Patrick's side when he couldn't sleep and Moira needed the rest more than him. He wondered what his own kid's first word was.

He missed his memories. Thought Atlas wasn't sure if he really wanted them back either. Because what if he remembered that he  _hadn't?_

Regardless of what he had and had not done, Lamb was in the process of taking over Ryan's good work and running this hell hole even further into the ground. They both took potential and twisted it until it was grotesque and self serving. 

Now, Atlas knew damn fucking well Lamb was barking mad - but to hear that she apparently had the means of taking things from the surface, of reaching the surface at all and yet she was still _here._ In Rapture, of her own free will. That was a new level of insanity. No one should want to stay in this sink hole as it was now. The only logical thing to do was jump the sinking ship.

And yet…

Sighing for a second time Atlas glanced towards the ceiling again, listening to the train rattling and groaning its way through the underwater city.

“I was going to save this place you know.” Atlas began unprompted, voice a thousand years away.

“From Ryan.” He clarified after a beat of silence. Only for his gaze to drop down to his boots, looking at the collected grime, flaking blood. Wondering just how long these old boots had been serving him. Felt like part of him, like if he were to change clothes he’d suddenly no longer be himself. Like Atlas could be so easily peeled away.

Maybe he was just really that worn thin.

“Didn’t plan for after that.” Atlas admitted with a listless shrug. “Thought right up to the point Ryan was dead and then nothing else.”

“Not the surface?” Tenenbaum asked slowly, always probing him for something or another. Atlas still wasn’t sure what she was digging for.

“Yeah well, guess that was always there.” He dismissed. The surface was obtainable but Alas never felt it was the goal. Just something he needed access to but...did he ever actually plan on leaving Rapture forever?

He sure as shit did now but during the war he’d wanted to save this city and as things dropped further and further out of his hands, he began focusing solely on Ryan. Like getting rid of him would fix everything.

“This place used to be so beautiful.” He murmured, voice painfully wistful. He didn’t know he was capable of that level of melancholy. “Could have been so much better.”

“If _you_ were in charge?”

Atlas snorted. “Do I look like the sort to run that sort of operation? No way.” The answer felt mechanical. Something he’d said before but didn’t quite believe. “Nah. I don’t know. Just anyone besides Ryan.”

This time he got no more questions or comments, just a steady hum from Tenenbaum. He had no idea what to make of that response. Positive, negative, impossible to tell. Just acknowledgement that he’d been heard.

Before he could find the right angle to get insulted by with that answer, Tenenbaum turned to look at him with the usual stare that seemed to go right through him. “You still require rest. Come, I have a place for you.”

“Wait- really?” Atlas was truly taken off guard by that. Though he was less confused when Tenenbaum lead him away from the room that the girls clearly slept in. Made perfect sense that she wanted him as far from them as possible.

When he was lead through the train cart, almost to the opposite end of the train Atlas couldn’t help but breathe out a small chuckle of disbelief. She’d made him a nest. In effect thrown a bunch of scratchy looking blankets onto the floor. She had said that she’d look for a spare blanket for him. This was more than he’d expected her to give him really.

Home sweet home, he supposed.

“Thanks, doc.” He mused dryly. Despite his sardonic drawl he was actually rather grateful. If he had to stand much longer he was going to drop quicker than the little sister had.

“Once the train stops, you will continue with Delta.”

With a curt nod Tenenbaum made to leave and purely on impulse Atlas turned in her direction and spoke. “Hey, doc.” He regretted the words immediately but..well, he wasn’t the sort to back out once he’d started something. “...thanks. I mean it. For all...this.” He gestured vaguely to himself and the train.

As much as he might detest it, he did owe her thanks. Likely he’d be dead already without her. It did not make them friends.

The feeling was very much mutual between them and Tenenbaum only expressed surprise in the slight widening of her eyes before once again putting a firm expression back on her face. “Get some rest.” She replied, voice hushed before she left. It was the softest he could expect from her.

Left alone in his ‘room’ Atlas looked back towards the blanket he’d been gifted. Not big enough to wrap around him fully so he’d have to either sleep with it under him to protect from the disgusting ground or sacrifice that in order to throw it over himself in the hopes it might keep him warm.

All these wonderful options, living in luxury wasn’t he?

Biting down a third sigh, Atlas knelt down and began gathering the coarse material up in his arms. No point complaining, he could have no blanket at all. It took a bit of thinking and soul searching to decide what the lesser evil was and finally Atlas laid the blanket down on the floor. Trying to figure out the best way to position it to ensure he wouldn’t roll right off during the night.

He could fold it just once to keep it roughly his length and to keep some of the chill from the metal floor at bay. No matter what the night was going to be a long and uncomfortable one. Of course there was no telling if it actually was night in here but Atlas had been awake too long. Been taking abuse left and right since he fell out of that Vita-Chamber, if he said it was night time, then it was fucking night time.

Laying himself down was a graceless, painful endeavour. A firm thud against the ground and sudden exhale of breath coupled with slight regret. He could have at least _tried_ to throw himself down less heavily. But once he was on the ground all that fatigue rushed up to greet him.

Atlas felt his head swim, exhaustion creeping into his very bones. The moment he’d hit the floor his body had decided it was time to give out. He’d been running and fighting so much and his body had done it’s best to keep itself running, but the moment he gave it pause, everything stopped working.

Even the act of rolling himself over onto his side was a difficult one. Limbs feeling like lead and mind turning fuzzy at the edges. It felt wrong to let his back face the doorway, but he told himself wearily that the only threats here were Tenebaum and Sinclair, both of which had made it pretty clear that murdering him was not on their short list of things to do this evening.

Maybe later, of course, but not tonight at least.

Admittedly knowing that Delta was on board as well helped to calm his nerves. Even if it hadn’t his body was unwilling to rise again and this was just where he had to accept he was going to stay until he slept.

For a while he was left there, trying to ignore that there was still just a bit too much light in the train to make sleeping easy. Then, as he lay there he heard the sound of little pairs of feet running down the length of the train, excited whispers and giggles following the sound. Rushing to their own bedroom with more energy than Atlas could muster in his little toe.

Distantly he hoped they would wake up the new kid. He hadn’t risked life and limb just for the girl to get harassed by a bunch of other kids. Not that he cared, mind you.

As those running steps passed by his room, little shadows passing over his back as they passed, a set of slower steps followed behind them. At a guess, it was Sinclair. Atlas kept his eyes closed, legs pulled up towards his chest and arms close as those lingering footfalls paused at his door. The shadow of Sinclair falling over him and stalling where the girl’s hadn’t.

Just as Atlas’s mind began to prickle, began to wonder if there was some type of threat, he head Sinclair huff softly in that little chuckle of his and wander off after the girls. Atlas didn’t try to decode what that sound had meant, he’d likely have just as much luck figuring that out as he had Tenenbaum's hum.

Instead he relaxed, comforted by the fact neither the doctor nor his drinking buddy had decided to kill him when his defences were down.

Now, he could finally sleep.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am very tired. Please tell me if there's mistakes.

Sleep was no easy task for Atlas. It became a battle between his bruised and battered body, determined to have its rightful rest, and the discomfort of the cold, hard floor just barely softened by the provided blanket.

In truth these troubles were the least of his disturbances, what truly got into Atlas's head and made a deep and peaceful slumber impossible was the unease prickling at the back of his mind. His need for security kept him on edge, kept his ears listening for even the slightest sound that would indicate danger, as such his mind never truly shut off and his rest was not as helpful as it ought to have been.

And yet, despite his fitful, shallow slumber, Atlas's mind still found the energy to dream.

The scent of mock-up Sinclair Solutions smoke floated around him. Thin wisps of the replacement vice turning and fading in the air around him and Atlas sat back staring up into the hazy space above him. Clean, crisp, not in pain and too numb to the dreamscape to notice how eerie it was and wake from the illusion, Atlas sat and stared.

"Hey, kiddo." At his side the soft surface he was seated on dipped slightly, the movement only then causing Atlas to take note of the lounge he sat on. "How you doing, sweet thing? Looking a bit tired there, time for sleep, yeah?" A voice cooed but Atlas did not for a moment mistake the words as being directed at him.

Instead his gaze dropped down to a small bundle in his arms. Expression softening as he looked at the baby that only gurgled back up at him in that stupid messy way kids did. His mind suggested this was Patrick but Atlas knew that couldn't be. They were still in Rapture; Patrick was never this young under the seas.

Yet none of this seemed to trouble Atlas at all as he got to his feet. Slipping away from the woman by his side that had spoken to the child and given him direction. Taking the infant over to a crib set by the corner of the room and by a bed. Somewhere safe. Atlas's gaze flicked across the room, seeking out hidden dangers.

The crib was set deep into the room, close to the bed and out of clear sight of the door should it open. A means of ensuring that even if someone were to come with the intent of harming the child - it would be no easy task. They'd need to tear through the mother first to get there.

Still he hesitated, arms curling a bit closer around the babe, unsure if it were truly safe to set it down. To trust his own arms to carry them. The thoughts of uncertainty were dispelled with ease by the woman behind him speaking quietly. "She's a strong babe, just like you were. Don't you worry none."

They would be safe here. For now that was enough and Atlas could once again move.

As he set the baby down into the cot he noticed his arms were covered. Not dirtied by oil and muck from working, the sleeves that hung around his wrists clean and pristine, cuffs rightfully in place. At first something like coherency sparked in his mind, something that almost dragged him from the lull of the blissful anaesthesia the dream provided.

The thoughts were momentary soothed over quickly as a gentle hand laid across his shoulder. Of course he wouldn't want to touch the kid with dirty hands, the mother would have his head if he did.

"Got the same eyes as you did. The poor thing." She told him gently and Atlas had the urge to turn and look at her. To ask why she'd say such a thing, what was wrong with his eyes?

But his body didn't move to follow that instinct, instead his gaze stayed on the child's. Letting it's big blue eyes look right through him and Atlas thought that perhaps it was a sweet thing. This place seemed safe and warm, the woman at his spine while surely not his Moira must have loved this little gal dearly and Atlas couldn't help but smile idly into the thought.

Precious little things in Rapture were hard to come by.

"How long are you going to wait?"

Just like that the sweet numbness turned sharp, Atlas no longer able to coast by without thought. No longer able to sit back and let his body move of its own accord. The voice was not gentle, was not belonging to the woman that had lingered by him.

The warmth that accompanied the brief touch vanished and he felt the hand that touched him retreat sharply as if stung. "That's enough." Her voice cracked like a whip, but there was something fragile beneath the demand. "Leave him be." She insisted by the second voice, one that Atlas knew he recognised had no such intentions.

Instead there was a steadily closing gap and mounting pressure as the unwelcomed third party approached the crib. Somewhere in Atlas's mind there was a wail of protest. This was only a dream. He had no need to give it any power, but it felt as though he was no more in control here than he'd have been in life as a second set of clean fingers curled around the railing of the crib.

"Every breath it takes is one more you let it have."

When that hand traversed into the crib Atlas knew instinctively that if allowed to touch the phantom image would snap the child's fragile little neck. "Shouldn't name what you shouldn't keep." The man remarked coldly, tone resolute even as somewhere behind the increasingly small world the dream contained Atlas could hear the mother shouting something. Pleading perhaps.

"A girl." Atlas listened as the man across from him spoke one more time before his fingers brushed the helpless child's throat. "A baby girl in Rapture…"

The child screamed. Atlas could hear the sound of the baby beginning to bawl as if aware of the danger looming over its bed even before the pain came. Danger that never should have been able to enter its room but was allowed closer with every second of Atlas's inaction.

He'd had enough of that. Enough of his body moving like it didn't even belong to him - for better or for worse. He broke from that numbness and lunged for the unwelcomed entity. Anything to get it away from that crib and to stop that girl's sobbing.

With fingers around the man's neck Atlas was able to knock them both back, well away from the child and down onto the floor. The impact of the intruders back on the floor sent a ripple out across the room and suddenly it was no longer the safe haven he'd viewed it to be.

Ice laced up the sides of the walls, the place where the crib had been empty with only splatters of blood remaining and on the bed there was a still and silent body he'd placed there himself in the past.

Under his hands the mirror image sneered back at him. Cruel and vicious.

"Should 'ave dropped it."

Then it was gone.

The solid weight beneath his fingers vanished in an instant and Atlas crashed to the ground where the man had once been laid prone under him. The room that had been cold and dead around him left in the ruins of a murder he hadn't carried out but no doubt wore the weight of, gave away to crimes he couldn't distance himself from.

Cold traded out for heat Atlas felt the brush of stifling warmth on his skin and before even looking up knew he'd be faced with the fires once again.

But there was nowhere else to go. Nowhere else to turn or look to for a means of hiding. So he was forced to slowly push himself up off the floor, eyes flicking up to catch the scene that burnt itself into his mind long ago.

There on the dirty ground of what had once served as their main headquarters during the war, Atlas was left staring at an old sight. In Rapture's murky, cool colour palette, there was a dot of vibrant red and yellow. The fires rose up high into the city and carried with it an overpowering stench of decay that Atlas had never truly been able to rid himself of. It lingered at the corners of every memory and became unbearable when a child looked at him now.

In the centre of that blaze of orange and gold, there was black. Heaps of little bodies that had been rendered useless by their endeavours and left to be cleaned away in the only way they knew how. In the fires.

Around him shapeless figures moved about, hurrying to carry out demands that had been made in his tongue. No one stopped to take in the results of their conviction. It was as though they were all as void of heart as those corpses were of life.

Distantly he thought he heard some old sentiment he couldn't place an origin to. This world that values children and not childhood.

His world.

A great fatigue washed over Atlas as he sat motionless on the filthy floor, watching a set of hazy, poorly formed silhouettes throw a limb body into the mass. Another wave of that revolting stench flying up into the air as the flames rose a bit higher, feeding on the newest flesh offered to the blaze. Bodies burnt poorly but ADAM did give them such flare.

The first body they'd thrown on was limp. The second they came dragging out was just the same. Heavy and listless as it was hauled on to join the first and catch light with the others. They weren't responsive. They were nothing. Lifeless. Atlas felt little more than a dull acknowledgment that once upon a time perhaps it had been something more alive but it certainly wasn't anymore.

He had only told them to do what they had to do. Those things weren't kids anymore anyway.

Then the third one screamed.

It squirmed and kicked, screamed and cried as the clumsily formed men struggled with its flailing. Their forms not as honest to real life in this world. They slipped and fell apart as the little one kicked, but it was no use. Those little monsters were near indestructible if the slug remained in them - but they were not  _strong_.

They were just….

Just…

"Stop." Atlas croaked, but his voice was weak. Rusty as though it had never been used before rather than once held great power of the people of Rapture. It trembled as he tried to shout out, limbs trembling just as violently as he attempted to force himself up, to just do something. Anything. "I said stop." He tried again but was drowned out by the sound of the roaring flames and the kid's wailing.

Atlas managed only to get to his knees before he was knocked to the ground again. When he hit, unable to rise a second time, there was a voice above his head that taunted him calmly. "This your ideas of setting the record straight?"

And then the dream broke. Atlas felt it blink out of existence as he came back to himself enough to know those fires and voices were not real. Things from the past, but not of now.

What should have been a mercy was anything but.

Cruel as the mind often was, Atlas's dreams were too real. Nothing grand and impossible to give it away when Atlas swore his eyes had flicked open to stare across this rusted floor he lay on. Even though his body felt fuzzy, pins and needles prickling under his skin, he was so sure it was real. That he was awake.

Awake, and unable to move.

Breathing became difficult, air catching in his chest as Atlas looked around the darkness, trying desperately to move something besides his gaze. His body wasn't changing, wasn't responding to his frantic attempts to so much as curl a fist. It also occurred to him that was uncomfortable. Having used his arm as a pillow it became numb in that way that promised soreness when the blood flowed back through it. But he could not even move from that uncomfortable position. Stuck staring around the little area of train he'd been given to sleep in.

The urge the call for help welled up in his chest, catching just below his throat and forming a firm lump there, restricting his voice and keeping him from screaming out.

But what use would screaming have done him really? Atlas imagined that even if he called out he'd go ignored. It was a foolish, baseless assumption but it was also one that felt as real as his paralysis. Irrefutable fact that no one was going to help him.

He had to do everything himself. Ain't no one going to give him a handout.

Panic had set in a good few minutes earlier but it began to climb aggressively when Atlas finally did hear something.

The echoes of screaming sounded so similar to that of his dream. Enough that Atlas feared he was just going to get swallowed up into more nightmares. But the longer he lay there, the clearer those sounds became, the closer it seemed, until finally there was one last shrill scream that cracked through Atlas's mind like a whip and pulled him gasping from all of sleep's clutches.

He'd heard a scream he knew. The kid with that particular accent that had been clutching his hand like a lifeline not twenty four hours earlier. He knew how her voice sounded when afraid, little sister or no, and she was screaming out for help now.

In an instant all traces of sleep flew from him mind, body and soul. Atlas lunged upright, the blanket he'd just barely managed to use to soften his rest kicked aside as he launched from his prone position on the ground and out the door. Only just catching a glimpse of what looked like a set of shoes standing where he'd been laying a second earlier.

If he'd stopped and let it eat at him Atlas would have recognised those as the same shoes of the mocking voice in his dreams. But as it was, he ran.

Atlas, in his haste, struck the wall opposite his little room as he flung himself into the train corridor. Just behind him Atlas heard more commotion, a distinctly thick voice belonging to Tenebaum calling out in alarm. In question or demand he couldn't tell, didn't stop to pay her any more mind than the illusions in his mind.

Instead he barged down the length of the train, following the sound of the girl's screaming back to the room he'd left both her and Delta in earlier that night.

A decision he began to regret. But how was he to know anything could happen? He'd left her with  _Delta_. Delta who could protect any one of them. Who was the strongest and the kindest son of a bitch he'd met in years down here.

Delta, who was spilling red light into the darkness and shaking the train with the thunderous way he roared.

Skidding to a halt once he hit the threshold of the girl's makeshift bedroom, Atlas struggled to catch up with what he was seeing. A violent mass of metal and red light loomed before him, the drill attached to the beasts arm whirling into life with a razor sharp grind. Atlas could barely process what he was looking at, but that was definitely Delta.

A flash of the mark engraved into the plate lashed across his hand marked him as such. This was no replacement or intruding big daddy model, that was their boy that bellowed and banged against the sides of the train, shaking the whole thing to the point Atlas feared they'd be thrown of the rails.

When Delta struck the train again, no longer attempting to be careful as he'd been earlier while trying not to shake the train with his heavy steps, Atlas ended up thrown off balance and needed to brace himself against the doorway just to keep upright.

Hastily Atlas scrambled to see everything he needed to see. The dangerous he'd found even if he did not comprehend it, an exit was what he stood in, but the most important thing left to find was one the other side of the room.

Huddled together and trembling were all four of their girls. Their little forms looking just as fragile as the babe in his dreams had been. Between the four of them Atlas could see the girl he'd brought here in the first place hugging herself to the other two girls that crouched down by her. There was no distance between them despite not knowing one another and just as there was no distance in their terrified clutching, of the four the eldest girl stood firm between her sisters and their supposed guardian.

Protective even as her little arms and legs shook so terribly it seemed like she could hardly stand let alone stand up for them. But she hadn't budged an inch.

Between Atlas and those terrified girls was Delta, who Atlas did not even recognise currently.

Another thundering roar from Delta and Atlas was out of wiggle room. He could not tell if the movements of the big daddy were intended to be violent towards those huddled girls, but with the blind, rampaging state of the metal beast there was every chance it just wouldn't matter.

Bracing himself a little more firmly against the sturdy wall, Atlas found his footing once again and with a deep breath pushed himself forward. Better not to think on this one. If he stopped to think he'd no doubt imagine how that drill might look poking out of his ribcage and lose his nerve.

Instead he looked at those girls once more and by chance happened to catch the wide, desperate brown eyes belonging to the girl he'd already saved once or twice - what was one more time on top of that?

It was only once Atlas's pounding footsteps got close enough for the man to reach the enraged beast that he was noticed by Delta. In this tiny space there was practically nowhere that Atlas could go but even in this space he moved with greater ease than Delta. As the big daddy swung it's massive hulking weight around to try and catch it's attacker head on, Atlas only needed to change his angle slightly to dive right down across Delta's side as he staggered and planted the drill into the ground towards his opposite side.

The miss was calculated as was the risk but despite having anticipated Delta's movements well enough to avoid harm and create an opening, Atlas's heart rate still skyrocketed, knowing that any missed step would spell a quick and gruesome death. It would be incredibly fucking poor manners of him to get disembowelled in front of the kids.

Right. "Come on you great lumbering idiot!" Atlas snarled, voice full of mock confidence and antagonism that felt truly wrong being thrown at Delta. But it was also wrong for Delta to be throwing his drill at him so Atlas pushed it aside.

Another low sound came rumbling out of Delta, some indescribable rage that set ice to Atlas's veins. What the hell had happened to that sweet kid? He'd been tortured and torn apart, sure, but Delta had never been like this.

Before his thoughts could get any further Delta found his footing once again and turned for Atlas, neither was directly in front of the girls now, Atlas's only true thought being that if he could just get between them or create and opening he could somehow magically win this situation.

Truly it was flawed thinking but he could still hear the girls crying from off to the side and his resolve went nowhere.

Atlas flexed his fingers, seeking the same heat that he'd found when fighting off Stanley. His veins seemed to ache, dissatisfied with the level of EVE Atlas was giving them to work with while trying to conjure up fire. Atlas pushed harder and when the light came flooding out from under his skin with searing heat - he felt it as viscerally as he'd felt that splicer light him up. He was being punished for his insistence with pain but Atlas back down neither to that agony nor the screaming big daddy before him.

This time Atlas was the one that had to move in response to Delta. Having such an intimidating force fling itself at you in a rush that Atlas recognised, as a frequently used manoeuvre for Delta, was not easy to work through. Fear shot through Atlas but the adrenaline the kick brought with it managed to help keep Atlas alert and moving. Delta charged him and Atlas was just able to duck aside what would have been a lethal strike through his skull had it landed.

As he skipped and skidded back trying to keep a close eye on Delta and remain out of reach, Atlas used all the heat he had available to him and forced his hand down on Delta's back. Wishing he could better seek out the human flesh under all that metal, looking for Delta's bare neck. If he could just strike something vulnerable he could put the guy down.

Put down could mean one of two things and if it turned out Atlas needed to kill Delta to keep him on the ground then they were shit out of luck because he was going to do just that.

For his efforts Atlas was rewarded with an ear splitting scream from Delta, he'd done damage but not nearly enough.

 _It's not enough._  A voice hissed in Atlas's head as he feverishly tried to summon up more heat.  _You need more than some fire._

But what else was there? He didn't have any weapons on him, having run from his slumber so suddenly, he didn't even have any plasmids to choose from. It was that thought which seemed to stick in his mind along side that voice that so barely seemed to be his own.  _You need more._

Stupidly Atlas lingered a beat too long, hoping to see that he'd hurt Delta enough to stop him from moving if only for a second. Instead what he got was a sturdy fist to the gut as Delta twisted and lashed out at him.

The strike tossed Atlas off his feet and he hit the wall at his side with what he was sure was a bone shattering force. The air was knocked out of him with a dull thud and Atlas went limp in an instant. Gagging just to try and bring air back into his lungs. The ache set in quickly and Atlas could feel his stomach convulsing, trembling as his body attempted to process that hit.

The wall he'd been slammed against was the one right by the girls and he felt little hands grabbing at his shoulder, shaking him. He didn't know if the kid was trying to get him to stand and fight a bit more of if she was trying to make sure he was alive. Either way their chances weren't exactly stunning.

Blearily Atlas reached out with one arm, able to roughly guess where the girls were judging by those insistent tugs at his sleeve and put them a bit behind him even as he remained hunched and panting. His eyes were watering and Atlas was trying to stop from vomiting but through all that he forced one eye to crack back open. Red light met his hazy vision. Delta's drill a blur from the corner of his sight and Atlas could only think that was probably going to hurt a hell of a lot before it abruptly stopped.

Truthfully, Atlas wasn't looking forward to returning to that nothingness.

But there was no burst of pain, nor following nothingness. Just the girls huddled behind his pathetic attempt to protect them and then Sinclair's voice ringing out.

"Chief." Sinclair's tone was one of apprehension. The voice of someone forcing words through their teeth on the vain hope they'd do some good. A true businessman. "You hearing me, kid?" He asked slowly but all Atlas could think was that Sinclair was being fucking stupid.

"Augustus-" He breathed the man's name out only to wince when his whole body spasmed with a moment of pain, he wondered if Delta had broken something in him. A rib or something. Hopefully just a rib. Gritting his teeth past the pain, Atlas tried again. "Auggie...fuck- don't." Atlas tried to warn, tried to tell the fucking idiot to get the hell out of there.

When he managed to locate Augustus through his dizzy vision Atlas could see the man standing where he'd once been in the doorway. Likely making a similar assessment to the one he'd made. Ha. That was a bit funny, seeing how he'd charged in hoping to get the girls out of this tight spot and only ended up here himself. Seemed about fucking right.

However, when Augustus looked at him there was something like shock in his face, like Atlas had said something strange. As though it was so strange to tell someone not to do anything suicidal. Christ. But then just as quickly turned his attention back to Delta, though he took no steps closer to the situation.

Somewhere behind him Tenenbaum was no doubt lingering. Completely helpless in this situation. She'd die for these girls but that's all she'd be doing if she rushed in now. Tenenbaum was no fighter.

"Hey there, champ. You with me here?" Augustus tried again and must have taken the lack of instant death as a sign that he was getting somewhere.

Delta was no longer screaming and thrashing about, but the drill was yet to power down. If anything the big daddy only seemed confused. Body swaying to and thro with the occasional shake of his head, hand pressed up to his helmet like he could actually feel that contact. Maybe it was just a habit from when he was still helmetless to rub at his temples like that.

Ever so slowly Sinclair stepped into the room, looking as though he'd like to be literally anywhere else currently, but also knowing that this was the best chance he had at making this situation settle. "Take some deep breaths for me kid, ya just having yourself a small episode." Augustus explained like he was holding a friendly discussion with some panicked kid.

Well Atlas couldn't speak for Delta but he was feeling pretty fucking panicked right now.

And yet it seemed that Delta was in fact listening to Sinclair. Slowly the drill powered down and the red glow of his light flickered in and out. Switching between red, yellow and then finally a steady green before turning colourless once again. Leaving only a faint glow behind and no longer lighting the train cart up like it was bathed in blood.

A few tense seconds passed before Sinclair took another step closer to Delta's still form. "You with me, chief?" Augustus asked more quietly and eventually

Delta nodded slightly. His broad shoulders dropping as if exhausted beyond measure. Atlas only distantly managed to watch the exchange, well aware that he was on his way to passing out. He'd gotten rather painfully used to that over the past few days.

With the danger seemingly passed Atlas was able to let his own body go limp, arm dropping down to his side as he gave a belated cough, air still struggling to pull back into his lungs. He'd only just started to get over all his physical aches and pains and now he was back to square one.

Once the violence had passed Tenenbaum came rushing in and called the girls to her hastily. They went and Atlas could feel them passing him. All he felt was relief knowing he was no longer the one in charge of minding their butts. Better he be left to wallow in his own self pity for a moment before he had the energy to lose his shit over whatever that had just been. He had questions. But they were for later, when he had the strength and care enough to ask them.

Perhaps he'd have lost consciousness right then and there had it not been for that same little hand clutching his a bit more tightly. Ah, right. Apparently on kid hadn't rushed off at the doctor's call. He'd known this one longer than Tenenbaum had anyway.

Atlas opened his eyes once more and saw that now familiar set of brown eyes staring back at him. He distantly noted that the eyes of the babe in his dream were blue. That was both a comfort and somehow saddening.

"Atlas..?" She spoke quietly, anxiously, and Atlas realised he'd never heard her just say his name. Now she looked at him and spoke like she was afraid more so of what he might say than the whole ordeal that had landed them here. Like he might just blink out of existence if she spoke too loudly.

A touch offensive, after the seven layers of hell he went through protecting her already Atlas thought he was entitled to a bit more credibility. He wasn't going to break that easily.

"Still 'ere, kid." He grunted, a wince passing through his whole body as his ribs protested near constantly. But he noticed the terrified, trembling force with which the girl still clung to his hand and the way her bottom lip seemed to be trembling. Ah fuck, he knew that look. Knew a kid about to cry when he saw one.

"C'mere." He muttered, hand lifting up to pull the girl down against his shoulder seeing as she was already huddling next to him, he might as well offer her some comfort. If only to stop her from sobbing and worsening his headache. "It's all good now. Relax."

There was almost no possible chance in hell that she believed him, but regardless she'd settled by his side, still holding his hand and Atlas made a small effort to squeeze back. Just to stop her from crying, that was all.

"Beatrice."

Atlas frowned and opened one eye slightly again to look down at the girl, questioning.

"My name." She clarified after a second, looking almost embarrassed. "It's Beatrice. So you don't have to keep calling me kid."

Briefly something warm filled Atlas's sore chest. Maybe that was blood. Maybe he was just going to drown in the stuff internally and that's what he was feeling. Probably that.

"Whatever you say, kid." He answered with a faint smirk and let his eyes close again. One day he was going to get that good nights sleep, but apparently it wasn't going to be today either, so he settled for a few seconds to breathe while Sinclair and Tenenbaum figured out the heavy lifting.

He could question all this later when he wasn't aching quite so bad and the girl by his side felt safe enough that she stopped trembling.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quickie update I guess. Atlas is sore.

Welcome back to being sore and tired, Atlas's body seemed to say.

Embracing that familiar ache the same way and egg greeted the asphalt at the end of a ten story drop. Which was exactly why he hadn't shifted so much as an inch since the dramatics had ended.

With his eyes shut he could hear the scuffling of little feet as Tenenbaum ushered the terrified girls away from the torn room, leaving behind only Beatrice, who remained close to him, behind. Atlas would have shooed her away were he not so busy trying to fight off the wave of nausea that punch to the gut had left him with.

But that was not the sound he was focused on with what shred of coherency he clung to. No. What he was listening to was Delta.

The bellowing roar that had been shaking the train no more than ten minutes earlier had gone completely silent. He could hear the scrape of metal here and there, and he thought on occasion he heard Delta's low droning voice. As if he was whining.

He sounded like some wounded beast.

But Atlas wasn't arrogant enough to think that had anything to do with the one shot he'd gotten in. It might have hurt in the moment, fire did that, but Atlas didn't believe it would be a long lasting pain for Delta.

Unlike him. Who was apparently in everlasting pain.

Down by Delta's side was Sinclair. The man looked like there were at least ten other spots he'd much rather be in and there was an obvious hesitation with getting close to the big daddy. Could _not_ fault him for that.

Distantly he could make out Augustus saying something to Delta though it didn't seem like he was being heard at all. Delta seemed too out of it and all Atlas could pick up on was the tone of anxiety in Sinclair's voice. He tried to dodge around thinking of that tone as _concerned_.

Sinclair never cared about anyone. It wasn't concern. Couldn't be.

Atlas told himself it must have been fear over their best chance at getting out of here rather than Delta himself. That would make it easier for him to sleep at night and so that's what he believed.

"Christ, sport..." He heard Sinclair utter under his breath, abandoning his attempts to get a intelligible response out of Delta. This time the tone was so undeniably weak that Atlas had to ark up.

"Yeah, sorry to butt in here but I got a quick question - what the _fuck?_ " Atlas coughed on cue and while it had not been a planned emphasis, it did lend a particular rough effect to his cursing.

He saw Beatrice's eyes dart up to him from the corner of his vision but didn't bare the blatantly bad role model he set any mind. Kids were going to curse if they damn well wanted to, he couldn't be held accountable for that. Adults cursed all the time over smaller things like stubbed toes and ruined checks, he's nearly had his chest cavity pulverised, he got a free pass on the swears for this one.

Sinclair of all people didn't begrudge him for it and the only other person present to take issue with it while Tenenbaum was absent would have been good ol' Johnny and he didn't seemed to be conscious enough to hear it.

"You going to keel over on us, Atlas, buddy?" Despite himself Atlas chuckled at Sinclair's dryness, only to immediately cringe and regret it. The moment of amusement was no worth the sharp strike of pain through his ribs.

Worse still, with Beatrice still clinging to his side he could feel her startled and hold a bit tighter. Probably wondering if he was going to die like Sinclair suggested. Fucking prick didn't have to say that in front of the kid.

He then noticed the other girls watching him from around the corner, likely waiting for Beatrice to rejoin with them. God he must have looked real fucking impressive down there struggling just to breathe. What a stunning image he set for himself. "Just a bit bruised." He dismissed, even though he was in incredible fucking pain right now. Thanks Delta.

Finally it seemed like Sinclair was actually paying attention to him. Funny, he was fairly sure he would have been ignored even if he'd said he was standing on the step of the pearly gates.

For once Atlas was relieved for Sinclair's keen eye. He watched the man take in the situation quickly and figure out the best way to work things in his favour. Fortunately Augustus's favour aligned neatly with Atlas's for the time being.

With one last look at Delta, Sinclair got back to his feet and approached both Atlas and Beatrice, the latter was who he looked to first. "Go on." He gestured back over his shoulder towards the lingering girls. "They're waiting for ya."

Judging by the look Beatrice cast between the two of them, she was not exactly biting at the bit to get moving. Atlas swallowed down a groan, this kid was stifling. Sure she probably had good intentions but he was too sore and too tired to have the patience for a saviour complex in training.

"Do us a favour, kiddo. See if you can't convince the doctor to get me something for this pain, yeah?" He suggested in the hopes that a simple job would help Beatrice to feel useful and stop her from lingering. He needed some breathing room damn it.

This time her scrutiny was turned on him and Atlas couldn't help but find her little scowl endearing. Kid looked like she'd lambast him for his blatant attempts to send her off.

He was lucky that Beatrice seemed to make a judgement call of her own and get up from his side. If it was because he actually did really need some medical care or because she knew how to read a situation even being young as she was, Atlas couldn't have said with any certainty.

Regardless he was relieved for it and watched as she cast one last borderline scornful look back their way before rushing over to the lingering girl. Just one now. The oldest with the blonde hair. Atlas had no intention of learning their names but at this rate he was probably just going to have to.

Once Beatrice was gone Atlas found himself praying she wouldn't actually be missing for that long and that when she came back she brought him a at the very least a health kit. Though preferably a needle in the hands of the good doctor. Atlas couldn't be arsed to pretend he didn't need it.

That little scuffle with Delta had depleted the very minute remains of EVE from his veins. He'd been practically running dry as it was and now his body was punishing him for using up what he had left.

Atlas didn't want any of the stuff in his system and yet felt compelled to replace what he'd lost.

He wasn't a splicer. He wasn't hungry for it. But he knew he needed it.

With the girl gone Sinclair was free to talk more freely and Atlas found it almost insulting when the man opted to crouch down next to him. Looking over his sorry state with a grimace. "Well, I've seen you in worse shape." He ventured ever so helpfully.

"Never up close, right?" He replied a touch bitterly, not that Sinclair seemed to care. "Forgive me for saying, Augustus, but you ain't ever been the dirty hands type."

"Hey now, don't go saying that. You'll give me a good reputation."

Un-bloody-likely.

Sinclair's obvious joke got another wheezy laugh from Atlas. Which immediately became painful for him again and broke the sound off sharply. "Alright, shut up." Atlas demanded with a winced. "No more laughing."

For a moment Sinclair merely smirked at him, though slowly the expression faded and Atlas watched as his eyes darted back over to Delta's still form. The only indication he was still alive the slight shifting of his broad shoulders with each breathe. Atlas followed his stare and frowned once again.

"You didn't answer my question." He reminded flatly. Then as a refresher, repeated himself. "What the fuck?"

Without turning back to look at him Sinclair replied, "Separation anxiety."

 _Well,_ Atlas thought, _that's not the least bit helpful._

Outloud he sighed sharply and tried not the cringe when his chest ached in protest before saying, "Going to have to give me more than that."

It was as though Sinclair wasn't really acknowledging him anymore. His eyes stayed fixated on Delta's form as slowly the explanation came tumbling out. He knew Sinclair well enough to know he only gave it because he thought he stood to gain something. At least that was just another thing he chose to believe.

"It's his girl." Sinclair admitted slowly. "His bond to Eleanor. It's tryin' to shut him down…"

Despite himself Atlas found that he was also looking at Delta now. As if he could somehow find physical tells of this broken bond. He knew this part. Sinclair had told him about this already. But that did not explain why he was sitting against this wall begging his lungs to just stop aching. He held his tongue, waited for Sinclair to sort through the various words in his head to figure out which ones he was willing to give.

He waited all of five seconds before Sinclair spoke up again. "The Alpha Series was pair bonded to those little girls. If they die the old boys just...lose it. Physically, mentally, they just break down. Rage, comas, death…"

After that Atlas didn't need it spelled out anymore clearly. The simple inclusion of 'rage' on that list explained it enough for him. Not only was Delta dying, he was losing his mind along the way.

Atlas felt he could empathise with that.

"Would have been nice to fucking know that." Atlas snapped, feeling increasingly less forgiving with the man.

"Wasn't exactly common knowledge, Atlas." There was a defensive note to Sinclair's tone that rubbed Atlas all wrong. "He's a rare old model, how could I be expected to know we could lose him to some kinda...brain fever? Not in my sphere of information."

_Liar._

Sinclair kept talking. "Either way, Eleanor is at the Fontaine HQ and so is Delta's lifeline, so that's where we're heading on the double." He continued to speak but Atlas was no longer listening. Instead he was hearing only the overpowering weight of that one word being hissed in his head.

And still Augustus spoke. "Best I know is that those old series tin men comin' out of them labs had their DNA so strung out that it just blanked out their brains when they got put into those suits like the other daddies. Kinda curious how Delta is the only one who hasn't gone squirrelly after all this time."

_He is lying to you._

Atlas acted on that accusation being thrust into his mind.

"Don't fuck with me, Augustus." Atlas growled, the words pushed through grit teeth.

Sinclair's eyes snapped back onto him in an instant and Atlas could see it there. That unspoken alarm. That anger. It was the look of someone who knew their lies had been caught, just now wondering what part of their deceit could be salvaged.

"I _know_ you." Atlas continued to snarl under his breath. "You cannot con _me_."

A heavy silence fell between them both. Atlas scowled at Sinclair, waiting for the moment he would crack and give something away. He knew Sinclair was a liar. He knew it. He knew it as firmly as he knew Rapture was a sinking ship.

He knew it and yet…What was Sinclair lying about?

Just as that question came creeping in, seeming to undermine all that certainty he had, Sinclair opted to crack the terse silence.

"What con?" He asked, tone dangerously friendly. Sinclair was feeling out the situation, seeing what Atlas might have to hold against him. While he was still convinced he knew Sinclair was lying.

Atlas just couldn't _remember_.

And like the perfect tell it was, Sinclair saw his empty hand.

The tense set of his shoulders eased and some of his usual 'charm' bled back in, but they were both watching the other more closely now. Just like the good old days. Days that Atlas was sure would have provided him with the answers to Sinclair's lies if he could just remember them.

"Looks like you've taken one too many knocks today, champ. Let's leave you to Tenenbaum, hm?"

Neither of them was about to let their guard down around the other now. Atlas recognised that immediately and while he had no intentions on being the first to make any move to change that he did still find himself somewhat put off by that tension. Despite their history he'd at least felt at ease with Sinclair just a few hours earlier.

But he knew when someone was trying to pull a fast one on him and Sinclair was doing just that. Atlas just needed to pin down what the specific lie was. Without thought his gaze dropped back on to Delta.

And all he could think was how Sinclair's retelling of Johnny's story in the theatre had crawled under his skin and pulled at nerves he didn't quite know what to make of. He hadn't been able to place then what it was that felt so off about it at the time. Just as he couldn't remember what caused him to so violently assert that Sinclair was lying now.

Was everything he said about Johnny a lie?

Slowly Atlas's anger settled. Put to the back of his mind to simmer and burn at a slower pace, to be patient and careful with how he played things. Sure they were all acting fairly buddy-buddy now, but Atlas couldn't forget all the knives they were all willing to stick in each other's backs.

"Yeah. Guess a guy gets a bit grumpy when he's woken up too soon and knocked around." He supplied carelessly and while neither man for a second believed the flimsy attempt of normality, neither did they call it out.

It was just a long game.

Blessedly before they both realised their hands were duds, the sound of hasty feet rushing down the length of the train reached them. The little terror had returned, this time with Tenenbaum in tow and Atlas could genuinely say he was pleased to see her.

As she approached, Sinclair retreated.

He didn't give Atlas so much as a passing word and while he did seem to pause momentarily by Delta, he eventually moved away from him as well. Vanishing through the doorway and likely heading back to his own den. Atlas couldn't help but be a tad envious, he recalled being more comfortable in his own hideaway when all he was doing was speaking through a radio.

Setting that aside he watched the doctor stop by his side and look him over. The girls had returned with her but seemed to decide they wanted to stay near the door just as before.

Though he did see them looking to Delta with a sort of desperate longing. They wanted to trust him and return to him but...well it was hard to shake off violence like that.

How are you supposed to expect a kid to trust and love you if you can't even be yourself all the time and scare them so horribly when you're someone else? Atlas could not blame the brats for wanting to keep a distance. And yet he found himself feeling a touch sad. Sure that the fear from those little ones would just break Johnny's stupid heart.

Finally he was allowed to stop thinking about those less than pleasant thoughts as Tenenbaum took note of the more physical ones he endured.

"I do believe I just fixed you, herr Atlas." Tenenbaum sniffed, looking incredibly irritated with him.

"Come on, doc. Be nice." Atlas replied, a lazy grin falling on his face. "I was being a hero."

He was corrected sharply by the German woman. "A fool."

Well, he couldn't very well argue with that logic now could he? A little appreciation wouldn't have gone amiss. He had at least attempted to protect those brats she was do damn fond of. A 'thank you' would not have killed the steely woman. With a roll of his eyes and a little wince as he pulled himself upright against the wall, Atlas gave up any sort of jab he might have made. Too tired for that.

"Alright, give the fool a break then. You got anything good for me?"

With a life weary sigh, Tenenbaum approached him and reached into the satchel she had flung around her shoulder. She produced just what he wanted and hated to see. The glowing needle repulsed him as much as he wanted it.

"You have depleted your EVE." She informed him, as though his burning veins didn't already know it. "I do not recommend the use of ADAM any more than is strictly necessary with you, herr Atlas. However...some evils are necessary."

Atlas felt something cruel form on the tip of his tongue. He had plenty to tell her about 'necessary evils'. But he could see Beatrice lingering by her side and decided to let those demons lie for the time being and instead reach for the offered hypo.

Tenenbaum continued to search for things in her bag once Atlas busied himself with the needle. He didn't flinch around them anymore, far too used to this bullshit to bother with the effort of even that. He was watching as the needle slipped under his flesh while Tenenbaum was pulling free some first aid kits.

Turning to the girls in the doorway to ask, "Would you retrieve Atlas's belongings for me, little ones? It is time we move on."

Before Atlas could respond to that he had to get through the initial shot of adrenaline that EVE gave him. A choked off groan and full body cringe as it entered his body and was greedily soaked up by the ADAM lingering in him. Fuel returned to the rather literal fire he was wielding.

He still felt sane. But then again he was sure insane people would say just the same is asked.

"Don't tell me we're already here." He groused, mourning the rest he never got. Between the nightmares in his sleep and the nightmares in his reality there was no breaks to be found.

No sympathy was supplied to him as Tenenbaum calmly confirmed his fears. "Fontaine Futuristics is but moments away. The train will stop for you soon."

Great. Just fantastic. So the day began and this was just his wake up call. Atlas had to take a moment to just breathe, needing those precious few seconds to collect himself. Then he glanced again to Delta. Poor bastard looked in worse shape than he was. "Not sure Delta will be up for it either…"

There was genuine grief written across Tenenbaum's face when she too looked to the weary big daddy. She no more wanted to send him out than Atlas wanted to go, but they were short on options and time.

"Give him a moment." She suggested quietly. "I will see to him before you go...but you best prepare to leave all the same." For a moment he saw her pause, look at him again as if trying to figure out where she stood. The doctor had done that a lot since he arrived. Always sizing him up and looking for something that Atlas couldn't figure out.

He didn't have the time or energy to chase her up on it of course. Instead he took a deep breath, dragged himself to his feet with a groan, and got moving. Lord hates a quitter.

"Right." Atlas muttered, feeling the familiar swell of exhausted resentment towards the city, steeling himself to fight it once again. "Lets get on with it then.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm in the last month of my study, pray for me and sorry for the slow updates. But I made this one a bit longer to apologise.  
> It is 4am and I have like 2 essays, suffer with me.

The train had come to a halt.

The great beast of a thing groaning and straining as it finally came to a stop, right back at the beast's den at that. Wearily Atlas glanced towards the doors, they weren't open yet but that was just fine by him as he sat on his hind haunches, sorting through his small cluster of supplies.

He had his pistol popped open, reloading it only to snap it back shut and spin the cylinder. It felt sturdier in his hands once full again. Better still was his packet of bullets. So long as he was aware of how many he had at all times, he'd have no difficulty keeping this thing loaded. There'd be bodies along the way with extras they didn't need anymore as well. With this he felt just a little safer.

Though honestly he could do with something packing a bit more of a punch than this gun. Granted he felt a small level of attachment to it, but it still was just a pistol. He needed something a bit more before he'd truly feel at ease.

Then again, he did have something else.

Tenenbaum had stocked him up with what medical supplies she could spare for him, just as well because if Atlas's track record was anything to go if he'd be needing them. But it was the glow of the needles she's left him with that kept his attention.

Frowning Atlas plucked up one of three EVE hypos, turning it over in his hand. The expectation was that the vial would be cold to the touch but it seemed as though EVE never truly cooled. The temperature the substance kept at was just a touch too high, making it uncomfortable to hold for too long.

With the desire to never have need of the damnable things, Atlas set it back into the bag alongside the med kits. He told himself that they wouldn't be needed, but he could still feel the last hiss rushing through his veins.

If it came down to it, he knew he'd take the EVE again. If it was a choice between not polluting his body and living another day, well it was hardly a question worth asking.

Given a moment alone to just breathe Atlas thought back to what had happened in that far train cart. Some of it was familiar enough, fear, pain, anger - par for the course. But he was beginning to notice a few more cracks in his person.

Between nightmares, unexpected outbursts and thoughts he didn't know he could have - he was a walking wreck even after Tenenbaum's patch job.

Despite himself Atlas again wondered if there was any point in digging up his own memories. Every time he got that bit closer, memories knocked loose with each dose of EVE he took, Atlas felt a little less in control.

Perhaps it was best not to go looking anymore. What good memories could he find here? He didn't think the ones he'd have of the surface were enough to make up for the nightmares down here. He was already burdened with so many memories. Knowing what he'd done with his own two hands.

It took a great deal of effort not to look back over his shoulder, to seek out the figure of any lingering children, to send them off. He didn't want a single one of those girls near him if he could help it.

But in the same vein, his memories brought with them other ghosts. Some he wished would leave him be and others? Others he almost wished he could conjure up just one more time. To share one more word with them before they vanished from him again. Even if he was cursed at and blamed, at least he'd be able to speak with them again.

Ha, look at him. Willing up old ghosts out of desperation. How low could a man sink that he couldn't even let the dead rest?

"Get it together, Atlas." He muttered to himself, palm pressed almost painfully against his forehead, as if he could squash the conflicting thoughts back down as far as they'd go.

With a sigh Atlas tried to keep his focus on finishing packing up his bag and kept his thoughts on the end goal. Out of here. One way or another. He should want to get to the surface, it should be all he wants but even that felt rather lacklustre to him now.

But he did want to be with Jack. He'd never even stood on the same ground as him, in the same room, been able to speak to him face to face. He...wanted to have that.

To hell with the surface, to hell with Rapture. He owed the kid that handshake.

With that thought focused on it became easy to move with purpose once again. Bag tossed over his shoulder and as secure as he could keep it at his side. Atlas glanced up at the doors once again, this time his gaze was no longer wandering and pondering, time to get on with it.

Raising back to his feet, adjusting the bag just once to be sure, Atlas stepped forward and past the door as they slid open for him. "End of the line." He muttered under his breath, the yellow glow of the Fontaine Futuristics illuminated ahead of him. This had been the start of the line for him as well. Somewhere deep in the belly of this old laboratory he'd been spat back into the waking world.

He felt the need to know rise up in him once again. To know why he'd been reanimated there. He'd clued some things together from his encounter with Stanley and the body of Valery. Old girl had got those things up and running again and Atlas could only assume that was why he'd been woken up when he was. He wondered idly if Valery would be irritated that she'd inadvertently returned him to this world alongside Delta.

The thought of her grimace nearly made him smile.

Stepping from the train boarding platform, Atlas took the steps down to the station's waiting area. His feet were met with the familiar wet splash of dirty water that he'd learnt to ignore. In Rapture you were far more likely to find yourself standing on something moist rather than dry land. Just to be relieved that you weren't drowning.

The Fontaine Futuristics welcoming station was, like much of Rapture, a wreck. Even as he stepped into the glow provided by the lights that stubbornly persisted through the decay, all it lit up was more debris of the destroyed city.

At the very least he could make out the station light flickering off to his side. The south side, huh? Atlas couldn't say for sure, but he didn't think this was particularly close to where he'd woken up. Then again, how could he know that? He didn't know the layout of Fontaine's old coop. He'd call it a hunch.

Among the ruins there were old newspapers. Atlas glanced over the papers that had once been plastered over the walls and now lay soaking up water under foot. If he looked close enough he could see those old headlines that were designed to keep the gossip alive rather than provide any real information. Once upon a time they'd been different, but much like Stanley himself, journalism hadn't lasted long. It just didn't sell. And in Rapture? If it didn't sell, it didn't have a right to take up space.

Bending he thoughtlessly fished one out of the puddles, surprised it didn't fall apart the moment it came into contact with his fingers. This particular headline was one he remembered distantly. **'Smuggler Dead! Fontaine's Fall. Read more page two.'**

Scratching his jaw Atlas briefly attempted to turn the soggy paper over but it finally gave up on staying in one coherent slab and broke apart under his hand, tearing and dropping a large section of its bulk back into the puddle. What he was left with was one more grabber tagline. **'What will happen to Fontaine's assets?'**

_They're supposed to be mine._

Atlas recalled there'd been some push for Ryan to hand over Fontaine's interests over to him and the boys. A peace offering of sorts that Ryan's counsel had been debating. Some way to satisfy Atlas and his crew with a show of good faith and perhaps quell the growing tension between them and the elite.

But of course not. Ryan, the stubborn old bastard, had taken it all for himself. "The ' _free'_ market." Atlas mused bitterly as he dropped the rest of the ruined paper into the water. "What a feckin' joke."

Before he could rise from his position crouched above the puddle of now completely ruined papers, the door to the train slid open again. Glancing up Atlas saw Delta's bulky form carefully working its way out of the small space. At his tail was Tenenbaum, speaking to him quickly and no doubt firmly.

Without hearing a word of the one sided exchange, Atlas was sure he could guess the final outcome. Tenenbaum was no doubt giving Delta a timeframe of some kind. Atlas wondered if that timeframe was going to be a short window of time that ended with another outburst like the one in the train.

His jaw set firmly and eyes narrowed at the thought. By the time Tenenbaum had finished speaking, sending Delta back out in the environment she was too frail to traverse, Atlas was standing back to his full height. Still a good head and shoulders shorter than Delta.

The moment the big daddy turned and began to approach him - Atlas snapped and put an abrupt stop to that idea.

"Don't!" Atlas snapped sharply and saw as Delta's whole form stuttered to a standstill, hand still slightly raised towards him. Chided by the look of it. "Do not take one more goddamn step in my direction."

He couldn't be trusted around him and Atlas felt himself no more trustworthy right then. There was every chance he'd pull his pistol on Delta before any splicer had the chance.

Despite his avid refusal to feel any sort of sympathy for the guy that nearly caved his chest in not half an hour earlier, Atlas might have felt something close to it beginning to wiggle its way in when Delta only kept looking at him. Some longing, miserable air about his gentle sways and hunched shoulders. Not a word and Atlas was sure Delta was begging forgiveness.

With a tsk Atlas turned and head towards the gates, never quite letting Delta out of his sight but unwilling to stand close to him. "Let's just get on with it." He growled under his breath.

He didn't want to have to look back and see Delta's shoulders set in that particularly pitiful way. The sort that reminded him of a kicked pup. He didn't need that shit on his plate as well as everything else.

Striding on ahead Atlas glanced back as he caught the familiar glow of a Vita-Chamber to his side. It was pressed up against the wall, ever waiting to be used again. Briefly he wondered if...well if he were to die, would it bring him back again as they always had Jack?

Perhaps he just didn't have the gambling spirit anymore - but he didn't feel up to testing the theory.

Though when he caught the distant ramblings of a splicer he felt a chill rush up his spine, a sensation he was now well acquainted with. He heard a woman screeching about 'the children' and a man somewhere cursing some doctor for something. He wasn't sure what it was about splicers, but they seemed to have an eerie tendency to mimic one another. Copied phrases and patterns.

The genetic key that had once put Ryan in charge of all these raving lunatics might have had something to do with it. Maybe they were hive mind like as well.

Couldn't rule anything out with ADAM.

When the door from between those voices and the train station slid open, they didn't seem to notice at all. The splicer's mutterings grew louder and Atlas knew they were somewhere in here. He was a touch surprised by the lights, how blue they became the moment he passed the threshold. Were it only the ocean held back beyond the large windows set ahead of him it would have been nothing to marvel at - but there were new lights.

Someone had been redecorating. He'd seen bits and pieces like this in the park but nothing like the display he found now. Scrawled up on the wall in big white letters ' _ASCENSION IS NEAR_ ' stood out proudly. Illuminated by a splash of blue light and decorated with many tiny blue butterfly images.

Below he could just catch the sight of further lights, though it was impossible to identify the source from this angle, he'd find out soon enough. Just had to get through the mad dogs lurking down there.

As Atlas crept forward, finding himself on a second floor and down beneath it the splicers were lurking. Splashing around and ranting to no one in particular. Atlas was about to slide his pistol into hand when he had another thought.

He'd once told Jack, way back at the start of all this, that he could light up splicers like christmas lights with a crafty shock of electricity.

He was the one with a fist full of lightening now. Might as well take his own advice.

It felt alien to him even now as the surge of power shot up his arm and crackled into life, little luminous cracks of blue sparks darting across his closed fist. It felt wrong to feel how comfortably the ADAM coursed through his body.

For all his wariness and anger towards Delta, he still glanced over his shoulder at the behemoth who seemed clever enough to give him a wide berth. Likely both because of his decidedly foul mood and because he was using stealthier tactics. Big daddies weren't exactly built to be the quietest bunch, even if Delta was a lighter model than say a rumbler.

Knowing that should things turn pear shaped he'd have a big gun backing him up, Atlas crept up to the railing to get a better look. The first thing that caught his eye was that the splicers had seemingly gathered. Unusual, at least until he finally found the source of all that light. They'd set up a...a _shrine_ around a little sister's vent. The sheer volume of candles was enough to take Atlas aback.

Whole damn city was sinking and these lunatics had time to light a church worth of candles. Unbelievably.

The strung up blue curtains and alter were what he noticed next and at the altar he noticed they'd laid out a sacrifice of all things. To lure out a little sister...christ.

No sooner than that sunk in did he catch the little scrapes and clangs of one of those little girls crawling her way up out of the vent they'd crowded around. While Atlas got the impression they weren't waiting around to strike, Lamb didn't seem the type to waste little sisters, he sprung up all the same. Not wanting to leave them standing long enough to see the kid exit that porthole.

One turned just in time to catch sight of him and its disfigured mouth opened wide to shout to the others no doubt, Atlas silenced it quickly.

Aiming firmly for the body of water they'd all so helpfully stepped foot into his shot a concise blast of electricity and found himself all but preening with pride as he watched the water spark into life and the electricity racing up the splicers feet. There was a visceral sort of glee that rushed through him when a plan went down without a hitch. Each thud of a fresh body another little bit of validation.

Before he could become introspective and note that even by his standards that sensation of satisfaction seemed too dark, he was distracted by the sound of the little sister that had nearly exited the vent screaming and vanishing back into the darkness. "Shit…" He cursed, rushing down the steps foolishly to see if he might be able to somehow coax the kid back out.

But she was gone just as quickly as she'd arrived. The slippery little buggers had to be quick to avoid the blood thirsty, ADAM starved monsters that followed them around.

Her hasty retreat left Atlas peering into the black void the vent provided. Hand on his hip with his expression twisted up into one of frustration. There was nothing to be done about it, he couldn't very well have left the splicers standing and no matter what he'd done the kid would have fled at the first sign of danger.

Perhaps it was because of his success with Beatrice that Atlas had reflexively chased after the girl. It would hardly redeem him, but it felt like it was his duty at this point to at least _try_ to catch those girls and hand them off to Delta and the good doctor for safe keeping.

Speak of the devil, Delta came lumbering down after him. He saw the big daddy's helmet turn towards the still jerking body of the splicers and Atlas could not tell if he was admiring the simplicity of the take down or if he was having another bout of misplaced empathy. Either way he didn't address the dead and instead jerked his thumb towards the vent.

"Oi, reckon you can urge the little gal back out?" He asked but as he suspected it was pointless. Delta slowly shook his head as a negative.

Typical, even he couldn't bring one of those girls back once they'd scampered too deep down the vents to hear his pounding and were likely still running further, scared out of their mind.

Atlas didn't like the thought.

"Fine. Maybe we'll run into her later, let's move on." Atlas was still being short with Delta maybe unnecessarily so, but he didn't stop to spare Delta a second glance as he stepped past the bodies he'd left in his wake. It was impossible to conjure up the same sympathy Delta seemed to still hold for splicers.

Kinda got that way after a couple of dozen had nearly bashed your skull in. They only got so many chances and Atlas had run out of more to give.

The only hitch with his solid plan of 'moving on' was that the gateway that had once lead right to the front door of Fontaine Futuristics was busted and spewing ocean water through the cracks. He'd seen leaks like that before and knew it was unlikely the door would give, yet he still took a hefty step away, not exactly keen to test the theory by disturbing it in some way.

"Well fuck me five ways to Friday" He cursed rather colourfully now that the kids were no longer in earshot. And yet he was positive he could still feel Delta's disapproving stare boring into his back. "Guess we gotta find another way in or the whole plan is busto. There's another path down here."

As he turned back he happened to glance off to his left and balked as he saw the image of Lamb's face plastered over the wall in a massive poster. 'Lamb is ALWAYS Watching'. "Eerie motherfuckers." He muttered under his breath and tore his eyes away. He'd had quite enough to Lamb and her bunch of nut-job followers, but he suspected she wasn't done with them just yet.

At the far side of the room there was a pathway downwards and Atlas truly didn't like the look of it. It took them down and down, the look of the area getting increasingly behind the scenes in nature. The sort of place he and the boys spent their time working.

He'd seen enough pathways to airlocks in his time and sure enough his stomach dropped when he saw a gateway to the ocean floor set out before them. Hissing another expletive under his breath Atlas tossed a scowl at Delta. As if to blame him for his ability to survive unhindered by the ocean pressure.

Part of him fancied using this as an excuse to go back to the train and bunker down. Maybe make good with Sinclair and snatch another drink. But while it was a comforting notion to entertain, Atlas knew there was no turning back. Had to keep going. Was compelled to keep going.

It felt important that he reach Fontaine Futuristics. He was never a backseat guy anyway.

How fortunate - or unfortunate - for him there were a pair of old diving suits hung up on the far wall. Atlas went over to begrudgingly inspect them. They must have belonged to the maintenance workers before big daddies started doing more of the heavy lifting.

"October ninth, nineteen-sixty-seven. Hello...My name is Gilbert Alexander-"

Atlas startled so bad he nearly leapt out of his skin. Despite the level, _rational_ , tenor to the man's voice Atlas's mind conjured up the last form he'd seen Alexander in and his heat went pounding. It took him a second to realise the sound was not of a radio transmission, but an old recording - it had said a date first but he'd been so alarmed he'd almost completely missed it.

It was rather strange, hearing Alexander's voice sound so sane once again. The man had once been so brilliant, with his hands deep in the big daddy production line at Fontaine Futuristics. But ADAM destroyed even the best of minds.

Turning Atlas found Delta staring at the screen emitting the memory of Alexander's mind, listening and watching as the man went on. The screen his old image was displayed on was directly across from Atlas, Delta's larger form must have brushed close enough to trigger it.

"Look while you're listening to his ramblings I'm going to stuff myself into this soggy ol' bit of gear." Atlas grunted, mostly trying to ignore the recording, though it still managed to seep into his thoughts here and there.

It chilled him to the bone when hearing Alexander say outright he expected and accepted his own decline into insanity. To know it was coming and be so helpless to stop it as your mind turned on you….yeah, Atlas was made extraordinary uneasy by it.

The suit he was trying to squeeze himself into was foul. It was damp and squished unpleasantly as he jammed each foot inside. But at the very least the padding was well insulating and even before it had reached his waist Atlas could feel how it would keep him warm. Just as well because he'd freeze to death out in the ocean water without it.

Getting the boots on was harder, two pairs and neither were a good fit for him. The first too large, leaving him basically without any god damn boot to speak of they were so useless to him and the others just a tad too small. He knew it would become far more uncomfortable once he stepped into the heavy pressure of the ocean, but they were not small enough to cause him any real harm. Just enough to be irritating no doubt.

As he struggled the last boot on, Alexander's recording finished up. Atlas couldn't say he was a massive fan of the request. They had enough to do with limited time as is and he wasn't biting at the bit to have another encounter with what the man was now. However, he got the distinct impression that this too was going to be out of his hands and they'd be forced to jump through more hoops.

Slowly he worked on the more fiddly parts the suit trying to figure out a few latches and patches he didn't understand, Delta searched the place. Likely to avoid making it obvious he was waiting on Atlas.

Except Atlas could not for the life of him figure the suit out.

Frustrated and confused he looked over it all again. He should know this. He'd worked maintenance on Rapture for years. Granted he didn't specialise in the water repairs, but he'd been a metal worker all his damn life. Surely he would have gone out with the divers once or twice to work on piping?

His memory was shot all to hell but he'd never forgotten a _skill_ before.

The longer his fingers failed to magically recall what they were supposed to do, the more furious Atlas became with himself. Why? Why was he such a damn mess? How could he forget something so fundamental to his person? A whole trade, down the drain.

Apparently he'd taken too longer, because Delta was turning back towards him. Head cocked in that way he always did when enquiring over something. Too angry and flustered to form a coherent answer to Delta's silent question, Atlas furiously tugged at the suit here and there, just trying to make something happen. To slot into place in his mind.

Delta spared him the struggle continuing. Approaching him and after a brief hesitation when Atlas turned his fiery gaze onto him, reached out to take over. Johnny had been a deep sea diver before being put into a more permanent suit. It made sense he'd make short work of the gear. Atlas's pride was wounded, but he let Delta work, knowing he couldn't impede progress for the sake of his ego. Worse still, risk his life underwater because he refused professional help.

Didn't mean he'd be thanking Delta of course.

Instead his gaze flicked up to the airlock and he felt his heart clench again. Thoughts of the...the _thing_ that had attacked him in the bathysphere as he escaped the very place they were heading filling up his head.

"Hey...Delta?" His voice was low, quiet in an attempt to disguise the sickly sensation of fear crawling up his spine. "There's things out there, in the deep. Splicers I suppose but…"

God he didn't want to go out there.

He was fucking piss scared of going into the water. He was not too proud to admit that, at least within the safety of his own mind.

Briefly Delta paused in his preparation of Atlas's diving suit. The helmet that would soon be over Atlas's head in his gloved hand. He made even that look small with his massive size. His stare followed Atlas's towards the airlock and by extension the open ocean depths. Atlas didn't know what he was thinking. Maybe he thought he was a coward, maybe sea monsters were nothing to him. But Atlas recalled the damage that thing had done to his bathysphere. It was made of tough stuff, just like Delta. He'd probably fair about the same.

Atlas truly worried that Delta would be shredded if one of those things found them.

Finally Delta turned back in his direction and set the helmet onto his head like he was a child, before slightly lifting his drill to show Atlas. With one hand on the helmet, a sort of indirect touch to his head that Delta was so fond of, he gave the drill a small rev and Atlas was alarmed when he did not immediately become afraid.

Delta had knocked him around badly back on the train, and yet with him still so clearly being himself - Atlas just couldn't muster up the fear he thought he should have felt.

He hated the moment he realised he trusted Delta.

And that small display of his drill while keeping a comforting contact with him got the message through the Atlas loud and clear. Delta was there for him out in the watery depths. Delta was willing to fight off any monster that might come across them down there. Would _protect_ him.

Despite thinking he should be pissed that Delta was treating him like an infant that needed his hand held through everything, all Atlas could think was _thank god_. Delta's certainty that they'd be able to make it was a great reassurance. After taking a deep, steadying breath that seemed to reverberate in the metal helmet he was stuck inside, Atlas nodded.

The fear not erased, but the bravery to walk himself out in that icy water restored. He could do this.

"What the fuck do a bunch of ugly squids have on us anyway?" He ventured and even without seeing Deltas face under all that metal, he could have sworn the big softie was smiling.

Okay, so maybe he didn't have to keep being pissed at Delta. He needed allies currently and Delta was the best he had.

Delta was the first to step into the airlock, ready for Gilbert's little test. Atlas followed after him and wondered if he'd actually be able to pass this 'bioscan' to see if they were sane enough. Between a big daddy and all his loose screws Atlas genuinely wondered if they'd pass.

But they got the green light and Atlas was rather pleased that at least a machine thought he was sane enough.

Then he laughed when Delta gave him a thumbs up, over their successful passing of the bioscan he guessed, and Atlas returned the gesture it with a roll of his eyes. Sure, they'd probably die out there, likely an eighty-five percent likelihood if Atlas was forced to guess, but hell it was a one-hundred percent chance of death if they didn't continue on.

Suppose he'd just have to live with those numbers.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quickie update to get me through part 2 of exam time.
> 
> Hey and thanks for the well wishes and support you guys, it makes me really happy to hear from you and that you’re so understanding.  
> For the few of you that also had exams - we suffer together.

The absolute first thing that crossed Atlas's mind as the water rushed up his legs was, _holy fucking shit that is_ _ **cold**_ _._

As the icy water hit his midsection Atlas made the most undignified little sound as a full body shiver raced up his spine. He could see Delta turning slightly in his direction and scowled back despite the helmet obscuring his face. _Oh yeah, sure go ahead and laugh it up you little shit. When was the last time you were god damn cold?_ Atlas thought irritably but kept his frustration to himself.

Despite how the cold seeped into him through the heavy padding, he was relieved to find it wasn't too numbing. The suits were built to keep humans alive in the glacial temperatures. At least for a time.

And yet when the water sluggishly washed over his helmet Atlas found his breath catching and holding in his chest for just a moment. Calmly he told himself that he could still breathe and should continue to do so, but his breaths still came in tiny sips at first, expecting any second something would give and he'd be flooded with the ocean water.

At the very least he was sure that Delta would rush him back inside where he could breathe again were that to happen.

That sense of trust still squirmed unpleasantly in his gut. Atlas had little choice but to rely on it.

When the airlock gate slid open, Delta stepped out with a sort of calm confidence that Atlas just couldn't share. He walked as easily as if he were still on dry land. The movements more weighted and slowed by the water they had to slog through, but not the clumsy, inelegant attempt Atlas made after him.

The suit kept his feet planted on the ground, but as he stepped out onto the ocean floor after he metal friend, Atlas felt his whole body fall off course. His balance shot all to hell as he tried to keep upright. He felt top heavy but when he tried to right himself in that way, the rest of his body fell in the other direction and threw his weight that way instead. It was madding and he stumbled around like a toddler.

Just as he felt his feet slipping out from under him, unable to find the purchase he needed and failing to grasp at nothing, Atlas was almost resigned to his fate. He was going to tip off to the side and look like a right fool on the ocean floor.

But of course that didn't happen. He felt one large arm smoothly curl under him, catching the slow motion fall while another moved out to let Atlas's flailing hands catch something to grip to.

Delta might have promised to keep him safe from the monsters in the deep but apparently that protection extended to saving his pride the worst of the damage his clumsiness would have caused.

Very delicately Delta righted Atlas's form, careful to help him find his balance rather that just plopping him back into place only to fall off in the other direction.

He hated this. He hated being unable to just walk in a straight line, the water made it all but impossible to figure out his own weight and position.

Now he was grateful for the helmet because it meant he didn't have to choke his way through a begrudging 'thank you'.

Once he had some semblance of control Atlas slowly adjusted. Learnt with every step how to manage his weight without dropping off to the side again and once he'd managed that he could finally see the underwater landscape. Still illuminated by the dying city and beneath the waves, beyond the city walls, it was beautiful.

He'd never been a man for the wonders of nature, more focused on what was right in front of him and a bunch of plants had never exactly been that useful to him.

But now there was little else to look at besides the watery world around him and as he followed after Delta he noticed just how unusual this world seemed. He'd never thought much of the ocean floor in his life time but he'd imagined it to be more dead than this.

That plant life grew high above his head, flourishing despite Rapture built around them. And - of course - they glowed with the soft, erie colours of ADAM. He wondered if that was why the plants looked so healthy and proud down here, leaching off ADAM the same way Rapture had.

But where the substance had destroyed them, driving them mad, here the plants seemed to do nothing but grow stronger and healthier. Made sense he supposed, mother nature was one steely bitch.

Out here the parts of Rapture that still littered the environment looked more at the mercy of the water than inside despite its slowly increasing leaks. Glancing to his side, sluggish and difficult through the pressure of the water, Atlas noticed a statue of what he could only guess was Poseidon. A merman that seemed mighty out of place even for Rapture. He wondered if Ryan had been asked about that particular piece, didn't seem his style. But the closer they got to Fontaine Futuristics the greater the old gods theme seemed to get.

That he blamed solely on Sinclair now he thought about it.

Parts of Rapture out here were seemingly scattered and abandoned. Pieces of debris scattered around and through the wreckage a school of fish seemed to be playing.

Where he was content to pass the forgotten pieces of Rapture, something caught Deltas eye and he abruptly broke from what had been a relatively straight path across the ocean floor. Atlas's pace stuttered but he did not dare follow after Delta down the slight dip in fear of losing the precarious balance he currently maintained.

So he watched from the sidelines as Delta went to investigate whatever had caught his attention. Had to be worth something if he distracted him from their mission.

Imagine Atlas's shock when he knelt down and plucked a sea slug from the floor.

At first he didn't recognise it as the sand slipped through Delta's gloved hand, momentarily obscuring the disgusting little creature wiggling in Delta's grasp.

The moment he realised what it was Atlas forgot his attempts to keep that balance and jumped down the small distance between he and Delta. Disbelief written across his face as he reached for Delta's hands. The gentle giant opened his fingers up to display the slug to Atlas who gripped around his palm. Looking down at it now Atlas blinked purposefully a few times, as if suddenly it would vanish again.

"I thought…" He whispered to himself, perhaps in shock still. "...I thought they were all gone."

Hadn't that been why the little sisters were made? Because there was no other way to keep producing ADAM and they'd all but run out of these disgusting little things?

Again that information struck him as a bit unusual but he must have heard it somewhere in passing. He didn't dwell on it. Too focused on the existence of this slug.

Had they been reproducing in the absence of Rapture actively harvesting them?

Mother Nature…a steely bitch indeed.

Then Delta was withdrawing his hand, and along with it, the slug. Leaving Atlas to watch on in horror as, with a practiced ease, Delta crushed the slug in his hand and crammed squished remains into a compartment of his suit located on his forearm.

Needless to say, Atlas's expression as he observed this behaviour was something caught between horror and a sort of ethereal level of doneness that few other mortal men could hope to achieve in their short life times.

God he was tired.

"So ah...you do that a lot?" Atlas asked dryly even though Delta couldn't hear him through that helmet. At least to no legible degree. If nothing else Atlas hoped that Delta might be able to garner some sort of tone.

Impossible to tell when Delta merely lifted his heavily set shoulders in a careless shrug and moved right on. Freaky.

Guess they were moving on.

As Delta wandered on off, returning to the path they'd briefly diverted from, Atlas was left to stand there and wonder how far his fascination with the slug truly went. He could not see his skin under the thick padding of his suit and yet still opened up his palm as if he could see straight through the material and down to the ADAM worn skin.

Every now and then he had to check himself. To see if his mind went fuzzy at the corners or if he began to salivate at the sight of anything carrying ADAM. Even that disgusting little sea slug.

How pleased he was when he found the thought of sinking his teeth into the squishy surface of the creature to still be more repulsive than ADAM was desirable.

For now, that was enough. He could ignore the itch for ADAM a bit longer. With that comforting thought cemented in his mind, Atlas turned to follow after Delta.

Only to freeze as a large shadow gilded right over his head.

The water around him shifted with the body of the creature that had swum over his head. A sort of gentle pulling sensation that had Atlas taking a staggering step forward along with the current. Then just as quickly seemed to change directory and violently turned above him, moving in the opposite direction nearly pulling him enough to take back that step he'd taken.

Worst of all - it was out of his sight.

His heart pounded thunderously away in his chest as his vision filled with visages of what the monsters of the deep must have looked like. He saw Alexander and the thing that attacked his bathysphere and he was terrified.

Instinctually he tried to shout out to Delta and he must have been able to get some noise across to him because up ahead Delta's pace paused and he turned back in Atlas's direction.

In his panic he had not actually identified the creature that had passed him by. Seeing it only as a shadow figure that was surely some ADAM made monster. Weren't they always?

But Delta did not panic. There was a cautious but calm nature to the way he moved, drill shifting at his side lightly to a more accessible position but not immediately coming up in defence.

Then with that same slow, deliberate motion, he walked back towards Atlas.

Atlas who was still stuck in place, doing his very best not to let his fear get the best of him and lead him to hyperventilating.

Panicked he screamed questions in his head. Why was Delta being so calm? Was now not the perfect time to absolutely lose one's shit?

By the time Delta was standing by his side again, Atlas was sure he might just pass out. Deciding right then and there that he fucking loathed the ocean. Forget how beautiful the flora was, forget the fucking majesty and all that other crap - he wanted _out_.

Why the fuck did he ever think moving to Rapture was a good idea? Why hadn't Moria knocked him on the upside of the head and reminded him that the ocean was full of fucking bullshit?

He startled violently when Delta touched his arm gently. Expecting to look down and see some monstrous creature gnawing him down to the bone. Instead he only saw Delta. The big daddy was staring at him, fingers giving a light squeeze to his arm - intending to reassure or chide, he couldn't tell.

When Delta looked up, Atlas begrudgingly followed his gaze and found the origin of the shadow that had fallen over him belonged to a natural resident of the ocean and not one of Rapture's monsters.

The shark glided past them both, moving in a large, misshapen circle around them. It moved much in the same way Delta had, unhurried and cautious. Observing the two that were out of place in its watery home.

Great. Not a monster. But a shark.

Atlas was only marginally calmer.

But ever so slowly his breathing began to even out as he watched the big fish do its rounds. It was huge, no doubts there, a massive creature that he would say might be near fifteen feet. If he were to make a ballpark estimate.

It was big, yeah. But Delta stood stronger, Atlas was sure.

An old sentiment ran through his head as he kept his gaze on the beast. It was the one that struck you from beneath, out of sight till the last second - that was the one that took a killing bite. This one didn't seem to be hunting, but Atlas wasn't a god damn marine biologist, he was just guessing here.

When the shark's tail twisted and abruptly it broke from its course, heading directly for them, Atlas's panic naturally hitched back up into the red.

Without hesitation Delta took a little step forward, drill pulled up but not spinning. Waiting calmly for the shark to close the distance and Atlas was horrified when he saw that giant maw open wide, revealing more teeth than he ever wanted to see and a black cavernous void behind them.

Those teeth came down on Delta's drill.

Despite the bite not being directed at Atlas, he was the one swallowing down a scream and only managing to silence half of it. Producing a choked off sound of horror that was private in his helmet.

Any second now he expected the head to start thrashing. To see the shark attempt to tear Delta apart as he'd seen that water monster be torn to shreds after he'd caused it to bleed.

Instead, what he got was an awkward chewing attempt from the shark and - with a level of causality that was frankly insulting - Delta lifting his spare hand and whacking the confused fish on its head. If Atlas absolutely had to name the action, he'd have called it a tap - a _bonk_ even.

Then, with a surprised sort of wiggle, the shark released Delta's drill and swam on past them both. Leaving Atlas just fucking speechless.

The second time the shark came around it didn't open up that mouth full of pearly whites again and now Atlas recognised what this was. The fucking thing was _curious_.

And that fact Delta seemed to be indulging it returned Atlas to that state of doneness he'd found before getting the scare of his life.

It was when Delta reached out to touch the fish, to pat it, that Atlas decided that he was expanding his 'fuck the ocean' sentiment to include 'fuck the ocean and Delta's creepy shark whispering'.

Briefly Delta looked to him and he swore if the idiot made any vague suggestion that he should try this petting business he would take off his helmet and drown himself right then and there. Fortunately it seemed Delta was merely checking on him, though Atlas was sure the kid was positively giddy over all of this.

Christ. Give him a break and a breath of fresh air, please.

Finally Atlas managed to calm his heart enough to take a real deep breath and while his eyes never strayed from the shark, he felt a little less terrified.

Though as Delta had his fun with what should have been a merciless, eating machine, Atlas found himself studying it a bit more closely. It was all but impossible to say seeing as his memory of the shark that had come to finish off the sea monster that had attacked him was little more than a grey blur that had been quickly obscured by the thing's blood.

...but he could have sworn this shark was one in the same.

The thought was quickly discarded as being ridiculous, all sharks looked the friggin same no doubt. None the less, it would be a lie to say the idea didn't bring him some sort of satisfaction. Alright, as far as sharks went, this one wasn't the worst.

Given his bar for 'worst' was one that immediately ripped him into a thousand little pieces, it was not a difficult standard to beat out.

Right. Time to get a move on, he couldn't stand here all day watching Delta essentially try to make a lap dog out of an animal designed to kill everything in sight.

This time he was the one giving Delta a little touch and then tug on the arm. A silent, but firm, lets leave. Thankfully Delta didn't make a fuss and with an 'encouraging' nudge, sent the shark swimming off in the other direction. Seemingly having lost all interest in the two inedible things it had briefly found.

Atlas thanked god it had bitten metal instead of flesh.

Rather than leading this time, Delta urged Atlas to go first, to guard his back no doubt and Atlas felt a thousand times better knowing he had someone keeping watch for him in his blind spot.

And for the record, his opinion on the ocean was wholly unchanged. The sooner he was out of there the god damn better.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I'm a bit rusty so this is a bit messy. But I'm back I hope.

"I am _never_ getting into the ocean _ever_ again!"

The helmet hit the ground with a horrendous clang and clatter as Atlas tore it from his head and hurled it as hard as he could in the opposite direction of his body.

Immediately after, before the helmet had even stopped bouncing, Atlas was tearing at the suit he'd barely been able to put on competently. While behind him, Delta moseyed on in at his own pace.

The lumbering tin man did little more than cock his head to the side and observe the wild flailing of his smaller companion. Atlas did seem to like making an almighty fuss over very little.

Granted even Delta might have been given a little shock at the first glimpse of their underwater friend. Sharks were not unusual around Rapture, Delta had walked through flooded sections of the city and seen them cruising around unbothered before. They rarely seemed interested in him and both he and the fish tended to give the other a wide berth.

Naturally it was when he was out with Atlas that one would come up to have a closer look at them. Rather typical.

As if able to sense just how limited Atlas's patience currently was, Sinclair's voice made a reappearance. "Would I be right in saying you found some of Rapture's life blood at the source out there, boys?"

The moment that jeering voice came buzzing across the line, Atlas's gaze narrowed in on the radio which he snatched almost too violently from Delta, only so he could rather firmly voice his grievances. Someone had to hear them and if Atlas had his way it would be the rest of this leaky fucking city.

"Yeah, no shit! Thought those damn things were all farmed out, not just laying around for Delta to…" Atlas looked to his silent companion sharply, eyes raking over him once, twice, before snapping back to the radio. "I don't know, assimilate it or some shit? Just jammed the fucking thing right into his arm, pocket - _thing!"_

If Delta did not know any better he might have thought Atlas was complaining for the sake of it.

Well, at the very least, Delta could see Atlas was not lacking in energy.

From the other end of the radio, Sinclair let out an amused guffaw. It was about as positive a reaction as he was willing to share when Atlas was the one holding the radio.

"Fontaine was one savvy ol' crook. He built this HQ out on the edge of an ocean trench so deep it might as well be bottomless." As Sinclair dove into some sort of explanation for the slugs presence, Atlas slapped the radio back down on his hip and returned to trying to get his suit off. The struggle was partly due to their attempts to keep their supplies from getting damaged.

At the very least Atlas had been able to abandon that blasted painting of Delta's at the train, leaving them to only worry about the condition of their medkits and food stash. Atlas had to put some of those cruddy old candy bars in the suit with him and was rather violently turned off the thought of eating them now as he fished them back out. But food was food and he'd eaten worse.

"And why? Because the slugs that carry ADAM crawl right up out of it. Heaven knows what lies below... but the proximity surely helped him corner the supply."

In response to Sinclair's little lecture on the Fontaine Futuristics genius, Atlas rolled his eyes irritably. "Well if you're done sucking the dead bastard off…" Snarling under his breath Atlas finished ripping the last of the diving suit off of him, hurling the soggy boot he'd just painstakingly pried from his foot, across the room.

If Sinclair heard him, he didn't rise the bait. To his credit, he remained focused on the job at hand. A small level of professional distance.

"Now the good Doctor Lamb's as wily as they come — she's hidin' out somewhere underneath all this. Word is, she left some kinda... middleman in charge o' keepin' out the riff-raff. To get to Lamb, you need to find out who." Sinclair said, sounding rather exasperated with the games they had to play just to stay on Lamb's tail.

"Or..." Atlas interjected dryly, "...you could just ask the sorry sod that actually crawled his ass out of here before you lot dragged him on back."

He was, not being particularly helpful at first. He was no great fan of being ignored. "That loon Gilbert is still lurking here, as far as I can tell he's got a monopoly of the old place."

It was Tenenbaum that rose to this information most quickly. Perhaps tired of Sinclair and Atlas's borderline hostility. "Alexander? I knew this man... a talented builder of machines. He assisted me with implantation of the Little Ones." That checked out. Monster as a man and now a more literal beast.

"Yeah, and he's the last son of a bitch they left alive at Fontaine's HQ." Atlas groused, walking past Delta and allowing the sound of the radio to become increasingly distant.

Let them talk about Alexander all they liked, he didn't expect a single one of them to grasp exactly how monstrous he'd become even if he attempted to describe it in great detail. To write essays upon essays as to how every writhing, bulbos inch of the sea monster imprinted itself onto his memory. Of all the things he had forgotten, he wouldn't have minded if that part was taken from him.

Regardless, they'd likely find out one way or another, through the dingy screens they observed Delta's journey through. Atlas would leave it a neat little grotesque surprise for them.

The thought of _not_ encountering Alex-The-Flipping-Great didn't even cross his mind. Atlas didn't believe in that sort of good fortune anymore.

Pausing, Atlas found himself standing foot to foot with a corpse, they were nothing special anymore. Splicers even less impactful than humans. Atlas glanced over the man that lay propped up against the tiled wall, bloody and sunken. Not decayed enough to have been there for more than a few days, maybe weeks.

Atlas had long since forgotten to be disturbed by how easily he could gauge a corpse's time laying where it had first fallen.

Above the body was something just a little more interesting. 'YOU'RE FIRED' written in great big bold letters. There was so much written across Rapture's walls nowadays that Atlas rarely stopped to truly take them in. But like Lamb's messages before it - this one caught his eye.

Frowning, Atlas bent at the waist, leaning over the body in order to trace his fingers across the exclamation that stood as this splicer's only headstone.

As his fingers brushed over the tiles they dipped into the carved out letters. Smooth inside, glossy even. The words were burnt into the wall, blackened and precisie. Atlas's arm throbbed as it always did when fire came into the equation but he ignored it this time. No splicer's fist of fire could make words like this. Which meant, this was something new. Fantastic.

Just as he was straightening back up right, Delta's approach brought Sinclair's voice along with it, brining Atlas back into the conversation of their middle man.

"I expect he's still in those old laboratories." Augustus was saying and Atlas didn't bother chiming in to add his agreement. Rather hoping to avoid going down to the laboratories himself. But Sinclair wasn't interested in his opinion - clearly - instead something else seemed to be plaguing him judging by how his tone dropped.

After a short pause, Augustus more slowly ventured, "As I understand it, son... this is where they made you."

That had Atlas looking back to Delta, seeking some reaction all the while knowing it would be near impossible if Delta opted to keep his reactions subtle. There was many different feelings and meanings Atlas could glean from how Delta carried himself. But if he gave no physical response then behind that heavy helmet - it would all be private to Delta.

Private was exactly how he kept it with nothing more than a slight nod and Atlas felt irritation nagging at him. Not knowing what reaction he would want if given any, but knowing this was not what he wanted. This acknowledgement without any outward emotional response.

It left Atlas at a loss for what to think and as of late his head was enough of a mess without playing guessing games around Delta as well.

"Alright, so we're heading for the frankenstein factory - nice. Let's just-"

Atlas's rather insensitive, but well meaning, response was cut short by the sound of something making a ruckus up ahead. Both men paused, falling completely still and silent as they listened to the commotion just one floor up. It was distant, but Atlas recognised the shrill screeching.

"He's stealing office supplies, the cheeky little bugger! Company ADAM, from company stocks - I saw him jab it into his arm! Search him!"

Apparently Gilbert had brought his mechanical voice to the upper levels of Fontaine Futuristics as well.

With a small gesture to follow, Atlas crept towards the door and tried to get a better look at what was happening in the Fontaine Furtruistics entryway. It was hard to make out from this angle but eventually he was able to make out the form of at least two splicers huddled around a vending machine, with the annoying drone of Alexander's buzzing around their heads.

Still screaming. God the man was grating to listen to.

And they had to listen to him plenty.

Whatever pitiful attempts the splicer made to appease the giant eye in the sky that served as Alex's surrogate was only able to infuriate the man more. It was truly not the splicer's fault - Alex seemed mad enough as was. Just looking for bodies to add to his tally.

As the bot's screaming got increasingly unhinged, all Atlas could do was set down his bag and begin rather casually rifling through it. Withdrawing first his packet of bullets and then whipping out his pistol to get started checking the ammunition situation. Might as well get ready for the bullshit to come.

"Mister A!? I am your employer, _boy!_ What is my name?" Alex continued screaming near incoherently as a background noise to Atlas's calm preparations. "Oh, now it remembers. Too late, my friend! Too late!"

To the sound of Alex 'firing' the splicers, Atlas counted off his rounds. " "Dismissed! Fired! _Terminated!"_ Alex shrieked and Atlas only just had enough interest to glance around the corner again and see Alex put the splicer down.

Admittedly the fire power the modified security bot had was somewhat daunting. Tenenbaum's description of the talented scientist proving true. But the most Atlas could muster for the time being was a weary, "Guess we found the graffiti culprit." That blast of heat that carved out the 'dismissals' into the tiled wall behind them was nothing to scoff at. Another obstacle then.

"I do so hope that was instructive for the rest of you." Atlas clicked the pistol chamber open as Alex brought a close to his little 'demonstration'. Sounded pretty pleased with himself to boot.

"That'd be our man." Atlas confirmed with a hefty sigh once the noise had settled.

Sinclair sounded far less jaded than himself, horrified even. "Alex the Great!? Oh hell, not much left of the man that left you that message we're following. He sounds mad as a March hare now." He lamented. How he was not yet used to all these 'great minds' going completely nutty was beyond Atlas.

"Preaching to the choir on that one, Sinclair." Atlas remarked, jamming new ammunition into his pistol with a precise callousness.

If it turned out they had to kill the thing Gilbert had become as the old memory of the man had pleaded in recordings, it'd be no sadder than putting down a rabies laden mutt.

With that Atlas rose back to his feet, noting that the entry hall was now empty save for the aimlessly flying security bot. Seemed like Alex didn't know what to do with himself when he wasn't killing his 'employees.'

"Right. Let's give him something to do."

It was with perhaps just a little bit too much confidence that Atlas stepped out from his cover, pistol trained on the unsuspecting bot, and fired.

Most bots would take the bullet and fall from the sky at best, glitch and flail at worst, but Alex's personal security bot did little more than dip slightly off course before whipping back around in Atlas's direction.

"Shit-"

Having just seen what a blast from Alex's bot could do, Atlas was quick to dive aside of it when aimed at him. The heat of the pointed beam rushed past Atlas's side, just narrowly missing him as he clambered down beside a collection of crates with 'seized' notices plastered all over them.

Scrambling onto his backside, Atlas caught sight of Delta still standing in the doorway he'd just stepped out of in all his misplaced bravado. Atlas wished Delta kept these thoughts more private because he was _definitely_ really unimpressed with him right now.

In response to that flat judgemental stare, Atlas flipped Delta off and snapped. "Well let's see you do better, Delta!"

He was genuinely a bit wounded when Delta did just that. Stepping out after Atlas and turning towards the drone as it flew overhead, right over the stack of crates Atlas had tried hiding behind. Seeing it abruptly above him, Atlas yelped in alarm and it was then that Delta moved. Drill whirling to life as the big daddy braced his massive form before charging right at the bot.

The bot that was literally right above him. Oh for fucks sake-

Atlas was forced to leap away from the pile of crates as Delta came crashing into them, drill striking the bot and sending it flying along with the rest of the boxes that broke under the force of Delta's blow. Atlas, naturally, imagined himself breaking much the same had he not moved aside in time and if he screamed in a slightly unflattering manner when he did fling himself out of the way - well that was understandable.

"Would you kindly watch where the _fuck_ you're throwing yourself, Delta!?"

Atlas's skin crawled.

He didn't know why.

Couldn't focus on that currently. His heart was busy thundering in his chest as he saw his life nearly flash before his eyes. All twelve minutes of it with what he could remember.

Delta shrugged, some bits of the now demolished wooden crates falling off his shoulders while Atlas scowled at him. That fucking bastard did it on purpose, he could fucking feel it.

Before Atlas could get started with the shouting fit that was no doubt to come, the bot Delta had flung across the room seemed to shudder. They both stopped to watch as the study bit of machinery began picking itself back up off the ground. The whirl of its engines louder now as it worked overtime to remain functional. Any other security bot would have been well beyond broken from that, but Alex did have the shiniest toys it seemed.

"I recognise you, thief." Alex's voice came warbling out of the busted up speakers. Oh-ho? Come back to line your pockets with more Fontaine ingenuity have you?" Alex began ranting again and his lack of composure gave Atlas some time to find his own once again. Gathering himself up off the ground, dusting off his frankly beyond filthy pants before looking back at the _still_ screaming Alex-bot.

"All Big Daddies are property of Fontaine!" Alex asserted and Atlas felt a swell of irritation. Not a massive fan of Alex thinking someone owned Delta. Even if was a dead man. "Understand, sir, that I am the body corporate, Understand, sir, that I am Alex the Great! A company is an organism, my friend - I can piss you right back out into the ocean with just a little squeeze-"

"Charmin' that." Atlas's droning voice cut across Alex's staticky mess. "Hope the eulogy for ya self, is just as inspiring, Gilbert."

"Why you insolent-! You know what? No! I don't have to stand for this disrespect."

Instinctively both Atlas and Delta tensed as the weapon attached to this particular security bot began to power up. Delta took a step towards Atlas and he was fairly sure that had that weapon not immediately sputtered and died out, that Delta would have flung him across the room like a ragdoll just to make sure Alex didn't fry him where he stood.

As Alex's gun died and left him with nothing to use, a brief silence fell between the three of them. Then, ever so slowly and no matter how undeserving his arrogance was, Atlas began to grin.

"...outta juice, are we?" Atlas asked ever so sweetly.

Outraged, Alex's voice came shrieking through the security bot, breaking the speakers into a mess of staticky snaps and cracks. What a drama queen.

Atlas watched as the drone flew off, seemingly in a huff and couldn't help snickering under his breath. He swore that when Delta looked his way it was chiding. In answer he only shrugged 'innocently' with a sneer.

With a heavy drop of his shoulders, Delta walked over to Atlas. Stopping in front of him for a moment Delta just stared at the ridiculous little man before firmly planting his fist atop Atlas's head. It was nothing more than a scolding 'bonk' but Atlas still yelped. More so insulted than wounded.

"Couldn't let me have even that, could you, tinman?" Atlas groused, rubbing his head. Pausing before adding under his breath. "Kill joy."

He was sure that Delta was laughing at that somehow.

"Boys." Tenenbaum's voice cut in rather sharply. Exasperated with the both of them clearly. "You must continue to the laboratories. Delta, please. Up above, there you will find a security gate. See if you cannot bypass it."

To Delta's credit, he did very quickly return to the task at hand. Turning away from Atlas and heading into the belly of Fontaine's entryway. Atlas took only a moment or two longer to follow after him.

The security gate that Tenenbaum spoke of was on the second level of the rather obnoxiously extravagant main hall of Fontaine Futuristics. The place was decked out like a high class resort rather than a place of science. Though Atlas knew that was not the case in the depths of Fontaine Futuristics. Down there it was dark and nightmarish. Likely had been before the rot had even set in.

Stepping away from the mess they'd made, Atlas followed after Delta at first. Taking note of the bodies Alex had left behind briefly before, inevitably, his gaze was drawn to the centre of the room.

Once his eyes landed on it, Atlas's stride faltered and he became stationary once again. Staring up at the globe before him.

While he was caught in place, Delta continued to lumber on past the centrepiece of the room, seemingly disinterested in it beyond an acknowledging glance. It was only a sculpture. One of hundreds in Rapture. There was no reason to be captivated by it. But Atlas found himself unable to tear his gaze away.

The massive globe sat to rust under the glow of the Fontaine Futuristic's sign. Through the haze and dust, Atlas could see the faintest shine of bronze still peaking through the decay and it was only once his gaze caught that shine that abruptly it expanded.

A sudden expansion of colour and glassy sheen spread across the globe and once the colour began to spread from the globe it overtook everything else. Wiping away the debris and rot, replacing it with the shine that was so unique to Rapture before the fall. The glow of a utopia when it could still pretend it wasn't rotting beneath the surface and standing proud and tall in front of the farce of perfection was yet another ghost.

Staggering back a step Atlas realised that he was alone in this experience. The distant figure of Delta passing up the stairs, unbothered by Atlas's delusions, currently looked more ghostly than the memories playing out before his eyes.

"Well?" The long gone ghost spoke up, booming voice one of pride. "What do ya think? Not half bad, eh?"

Stepping around the back of the first ghost's form was a second. Atlas recognised the transparent form in an instant, the glow of an ADAM made memory, no different to the brief appearance of Valery back at the theatre - not one that would interact with him presently.

Unlike she had in front of the broken down carousel.

But it was the man's form that seemed the most solid. As though he belonged right there. Seemed about right, this place had been the fruits of his labours after all.

Atlas looked on the memory of Fontaine with more contempt than he thought possible.

"You're not impressed?" The ghost asked, scoffing. "You're just sour 'cuz I was right about the kraut, eh? Look where her crackpot ideas got us. This place is gonna put Ryan to shame, just you wait and see."

It was almost a friendly interaction and Atlas watched the blue phantom lean herself across Fontaine's back and scoff right back.

And in Jaclyn's voice there was more fondness than Atlas felt was deserved of Fontaine. "If you say so, Frankie."

Just as quickly as the vision had appeared it was wiped clean of the world again. An abrupt snap back to reality that took all the colour and light with it in a near violent withdrawal. Around Atlas the decay and ruins returned. The steady drip of a thousand leaks and the stench of mould returning to him. Welcoming him back into the hell Rapture had become with open arms.

As the shine and illusions were wiped away, Jaclyn's ghost along with it, there remained only one relic of the past. Still standing before the globe Fontaine's ghost lingered. As though not yet willing to rejoin the dead.

Where the ghost had stood tall, basking in it's own arrogance and victory in the memory of this place's opening, now it stood in the way a dead man should. Hands by his sides, clenched, shoulders tense and head dropped before the testament to his ego.

Atlas swore he heard it speak once more. Voice a low snarl.

"...If I say so." The ghost's voice carried, harsh and biting. "Just wait and see."

Frozen Atlas felt something grabbing at his chest, a familiar sort of painful vice closing around his heart. Fear, perhaps. The unpleasant coldness spread and inch by inch it seemed to crawl through his veins, and all Atlas could do was stand there and let it overtake his senses bit by bit.

"Atlas?" Sinclair's voice broke him from his stupor. In Atlas's surprise he looked down to the radio on his hip, instinctively reaching for it, only to become just as quickly alarmed that he'd looked away from the ghost. When he looked back towards the globe it was alone again. Rusting and abandoned, no memories or spirits lingering anymore.

"Hey, you going to just stand there?" Sinclair spoke again, unaware of how Atlas's hands shook, needing to release them from clenched fists before he could take the radio again.

As he straightened back up, needing to forcibly ease the tension from his shoulders, Atlas saw Delta standing atop the stairs, looking back down at him. Ha. That must have been how Sinclair had noticed how still he was.

Before so much as attempting to speak, Atlas drew on one deep, hopefully steadying, breath. He had to get his head back on straight. These ghosts were haunting him a little too literally. But he didn't asked 'why god? Why me?' He knew exactly why. There was no point in crying that it was unjust - too much blood on his hands to play the victim.

But he wasn't the only fucking monster here. "What do you want, Sinclair? Can't let a man fucking breathe, can you?"

Atlas did not miss how Delta shifted in place. Likely a bit taken off guard by the venom in Atlas's voice. The response had been needlessly vicious, but Atlas was _tired_. He was tired, and he was furious.

He wasn't the only one that deserved punishment and they both knew it. That was likely why Sinclair didn't act the victim either when replying to the resentment thrown his way. "You want time to breathe? Let's not take it when we're all about to drown down here."

And with an angry growl under his breath, Atlas agreed. With actions rather than words. He did not want to speak out loud in agreement with Sinclair. And so forced himself to start walking again. Moving to rejoin Delta.

This time he did not look at the globe but he swore that there were still ghosts looking back at him.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the short chapter that acts as the dividing narrative chapter.

Shaking off the most recent of his seemingly endless mental lapses, Atlas was able to re-join Delta and continue to hold himself with some semblance of dignity. What little Rapture deemed to leave him with.

As he strode past Delta, Atlas could feel the big daddy's gaze on him. Couldn't' tell if it was one of question or judgement. Just as well Delta had no voice to chide him with, Atlas didn't have the patience currently.

Deciding to firmly ignore any sort of one sided discussion that might devolve into a one sides argument, Atlas instead focused his sights on yet another obstacle.

"A big gate with a bio-scan." He remarked dryly. "Fantastic."

When Tenenbaum first said security gate Atlas had thought perhaps her intention was to have Delta bust it down with his drill or something along more destructive, brute force lines. But taking one look at this thing he knew that wasn't going to be happening. For all the things that old crook had been, Fontaine was never known to be  _cheap_. Add reasonable cause for paranoia onto that and you got some top grade security.

Distantly Atlas wondered if this gate had also been designed by Valor's Home Defense and by extension wondered if Sinclair felt slighted by the sight of it. The thought was almost enough to shake some of his bad mood, but given how things had transpired back at the theater, the body still fresh in his mind, Atlas didn't have it in him to smile.

While Atlas scowled at the gate, sizing up their options and finding nothing particularly promising, Delta stepped forward. Standing before the gates, helmet tipped forward as he regarded the small panel attached left of the gate.

Atlas had to hand it to Delat and admit to his own discredit, that Delta at least had the conscious thought to actually try the normal way in rather than default to breaking in.

Pulling the lever a bright spark burst from the panel but after a moment of darkness it came sputtering and choking to life. A mechanical woman's voice rising from the speakers. "Initiating bio-scan." She chimed amicably and both he and Delta stood still as the scan washed over the big daddy.

The recorded voice seemed to pause. Processing the results before speaking up again, ever pleasant and lifeless. "Identifying clearance level." It only occured to Atlas then, just before the thought was confirmed aloud, that Delta likely had some sort of station here. They'd built the big daddies here after all.

"Identified: Clinical Trial Subject. Classification: Protector. Designation: Delta."

A stutter. Slight pause and then a small hitch. "Status Deceased. ERROR."

Atlas was ready to toss his hands up and call it busto, but just as calmly the robotic lady went on and so helpfully adjusted her records.

"Updating status of Subject Delta. Please stand by..."

"Well I'll be damned, that's gotta be the best customer support I've ever gotten." Atlas muttered under his breath. Too irked to truly be relieved by what seemed like a small mercy finally offered.

Less pleased was the current lord and master of the decaying business. Atlas heard Alex the Great's return before the nut job had even spoken. The familiar whirl of spinning mechanical fans alerting him to its return. The sound more distinct than other bots, simply because this was one still so broken after taking a head on blow from Delta.

That did get a smile on Atlas's face and he only felt happier upon turning and seeing the damaged thing practically hobbling its way through the air towards them. About as threatening as a lame pup.

"What's this?" Alex demanded in a shrill cry. "My secretary vouches for you?"

The offence lasted only a few seconds longer before recognition sparked in Alex and his tone became  _almost_ friendly. That edge of hostility never truly leaving, though Alex sounded rather jovial at his old creation's return. "Delta, eh...you're one of our old Protectors, yes? You're a fine product, Delta! Fine product indeed, one of our very best!"

While he was chattering away, Alex flew into what Atlas would consider Delta's personal bubble. But the former protector did nothing to impede the buzzing machine. Seeming to only passively watch and listen as Alex gushed on. Stroking his own ego rather.

"Built to last you are and last you have!" Alex congratulated himself for a fine product for the most part, though his tone dropped and became rather frosty after that.

"Perhaps a little too long, eh, old boy? Well, no matter. Once we're back in tip top shape, after you so rudely damaged my favourite bot, we'll have you refurbished. A bit of spit and shine. Why, you'll be right back to your marvellous self in no time!"

Atlas thought it about time he interjected, stepping ahead of Delta to scowl down at the glitching image of Alex's single twitchy eye. "Yeah, I don't think so." He snarled, finding himself rather pleased when Alex's bot jolted back and nearly tipped off balance in the air.

Coward to the end clearly.

It was easy to remember that when not standing in the shadow of the mountain of squirming, bulbous flesh that Alex had become. Here he was just some voice behind a busted up security screen.

Before Alex had the chance to start ranting again, or Atlas was given the opportunity to throw out some well meaning, but senseless, threats, the robotic woman's voice returned with news.

Designation: Delta. Status updated. Status:  _Active_. Access Granted."

"Well." Atlas remarked, one hand on his hip as the other dangled his gun by his side. "Always nice to have the confirmation, right?" He certainly needed to be reminded once in a while that he was in fact alive.

Physically brushing Alex's bot aside, Delta passed through the security gates as they were lowered. Welcoming him back home in a rather morbid sense. Atlas lingered behind, watching the busted security bot whirl off in the other direction, likely returning to master to see if it could be repaired or replaced. The fact Alexander was still able to manage things coherently here was unsettling.

Stepping up to the reception desk, Atlas glanced over the side and took note of another body. His eyes didn't linger for long, passing over the woman as an afterthought as he instead sought out anything that remained to be useful. Again needing to quell the uncomfortable feeling in his gut that reminded him no one should care so little about the dead. But there were just so many dead in Rapture, how could he be expected to care for all of them?

Delta had moved off to the side, drawn towards the television monitor rather than the reception desk. The moment he was close enough, that screen popped to life with the memory of Gilbert's voice.

Greeting them once again, Gilbert expanded on his predicament a little further. Atlas was only distantly listening as Gilbert lamented the ADAM that he had been exposed to and then warned that the facility would have all defences raised. As though they'd not already noticed that.

Atlas did not blink, though he saw Delta shifting uncomfortably from the corner of his eye, when Gilbert went on to ask that they kill him.

Finally Atlas glanced towards the screen, listening while holding onto a flat expression. Please kill me, Gilbert's old voice asked, I'd have done it myself, he claimed. But he couldn't and so the task had been imparted to them. Even though Gilbert had no way of knowing who would hear these final words or heed his last request. Lucky him. He got one of his old monsters and a man too tired to muster up the sympathy he required.

And yet, Atlas got a sinking feeling in his gut that told him they'd end up doing it anyway. If only because Delta seemed rather fixated on that screen. An old monster that was willing to provide mercy for its master. Great. Atlas could have reminded Delta of their limited timeframe. That his sanity and life were both on the line, but bit his tongue for a change.

Not as though Delta's massive bleeding heart was going to bend just because of that.

Then, at long last, Gilbert provided them with a password. Something useful finally.

"Ah...and on that cheery note," Gilbert's tired voice chimed. "You may use the diary lying near this screen to bypass the vocal print locks ahead and enter the security office. The password is 'Agnus Dei'."

The password wasn't enough with that vocal print in place, but Gilbert wasn't a fool. He knew that and no sooner than he spoke the password, a compartment next to the screen slid open. Atlas was quick to look inside and completely ignored the audio diary they had no doubt been supposed to priorities. Far too focused on the offering of a medkit and EVE hypo.

As he snatched them up, doing a mental check for what he had in his bag now, Delta more carefully took the password. Which, of course, Gilbert had recorded for them.

Despite himself, Atlas looked over at the sturdy box with Gilbert's voice inside and snarked, "Gilbert was supposed to be a genius sort, wasn't he? What sort of bleeding egghead leave their password recorded? Might as well note down all his crimes while he's at it." Snorting in amusement, Atlas tucked the medkit away in his bag and readjusted it over his shoulders.

Now, Atlas understood Delta was mute, but he also understood when Delta was trying to make it obvious that he was being ignored. "Yeah, real cute, tinman. Acting like you can't hear- hey!" Atlas snapped as Delta strode past Atlas, heading for the security office without acknowledging his comments at all. "You're mute, not deaf!"

Flat out ignored. Typical.

Atlas was left to his grousing as Delta once again kicked up conversation with an animated woman's voice. "Please speak password to enter." She chimed with that manufactured friendliness and when Delta provided the recording Gilbert had left them with, Atlas swore the AI sounded satisfied.

"Access Granted. Welcome, Gil Alexander." She greeted ever so brightly. It irritated Atlas knowing that he was absolutely never going to sound as blissfully and stupidly content as some automated voice box, in all his life. Perhaps he was looking for things to be frustrated with.

He needn't bother as a genuine reason came buzzing back into the scene rather quickly.

This time when Alex's drone came flying by, it did so with a speed that startled Atlas from his brooding and it took him a moment to realise that this was because it was a different machine. Rushing up to replace the one that Delta had damaged, it screamed just as piercing as the original had.

"I heard that!" The Alex bot raged. "My likeness is company property, Delta! Just like you are. Don't make me trip you for parts, me laddo!"

"Laddo?" Atlas repeated dryly, feeling more than a little put off by that one.

Wholly unfussed by Atlas's disdain, the Alex box rushed over to the voice lock, cleared his throat and then began to positively shriek. The sound so unpleasant that Atlas didn't even realise the sound was supposedly meant to be singing until Sinclair's mortified voice came across the radio.

"Ah, he's jamming the voice print lock with all that awful croonin'!"

That...is that how computer security systems worked? That didn't sound right. But hell, what did he know about fancy technology?

Enough to know that if you busted it bad enough it tended to stop working. And if there ever was singing bad enough to bust something, Alex's took the cake.

Overloaded the security lock stuttered out, confused and glitching till it gave a pitiful little poof of sparks and smoke. Alex let out a triumphant cry while Atlas uncovered his ears with a vicious scowl. "You are real determined to be a right pain in my arse aren't you, Gil?" He growled under his breath.

Immediately the bot was up in his personal space, staring him down with that one manically twitching eye. "That's Alex the  _Great_ , to you, simpleton!" It corrected him vehemently. "I am the lifeblood of this company and I will be afforded the respect I deserve! The scrutiny booth is far above Delta's pay grade and you're little more than a leech attached to his side! Not even qualified to scrub the bathrooms!"

With that Alex's little drone took off again, a job well done, leaving Atlas to scowl after it. "You know, I wasn't massively keen on this little side mission but if we could drain that mad dog's tank I'd be mighty pleased."

"For once I think you and I are in agreement, old boy." Sinclair chimed across the radio, sounding half as tired as Atlas felt. "See if you can find some way to sabotage his control of the building security. This loon is putting as many road blocks in our way as he can."

With the security booth a bust for now Atlas took to looking around what they had to work with. Thinking about how they'd have to backtrack no doubt.

Only to notice that…well the door to the rest of Fontaine Futuristics was now open. At first Atlas was bewildered. They hadn't worked on opening that. His answer hit him like a train and Atlas was too dumbfounded to even laugh.

"He left the door open." Atlas breathed, unable to process the sheer level of idiocy for a moment.

Alex had come flying through that door and when he left he'd seemingly forgotten to close it. Allowing them access to a majority of the building.

"Holy shit. The stupid son of a bitch didn't close the door when he left...jesus christ, he's insane and stupid." While Atlas tried to reconcile just how conveniently stupid Alex was, Delta took the reigns once again and hed through the door provided to them.

But Atlas could see the big boy's shoulder shaking a little bit. Laughter. "Knew you had a funny bone left in you, tinman." He mused, satisfied that he was not the only one bemused and entertained by Alex's ludicrous behaviour

Adjusting the bag once again, Atlas looked around as they left the little entrance way. Catching sight of a caved in wall that was leaking at an alarming degree. Another small reminder that every second Alex wasted making them run around was another second they got closer to ending up on the ocean floor.

Opposite the leak was a steadily growing vita-chamber. Atlas caught sight of many around Rapture now days, they stood out to him more so now he'd been tossed out of one. He still idly wondered if he'd be thrown out again if he died, but decided not to test that theory.

Then finally, just as he was about to leave the area, Atlas's eyes caught on one of the many Fontaine Futuristic propaganda like advertisement.

'Fontaine Futuristics!' It read in big, enthusiastic letters. ' We are the future!'

"What a lovely future." Atlas muttered under his breath, holding Fontaine almost as responsible for Rapture's decay as Ryan. Plasmids hadn't been the cause of this mess, but they escalated everything so rapidly and even now it left Atlas uneasy.

Wondering how long Tenenbaum's theory would hold true on him and if suddenly he'd be just like everyone else. Body eating itself alive to fuel the ADAM inside of it. Leaving on the husk of himself behind.

It was a thought that would have kept him up at night if he ever had the chance to sleep a full night again. He barely slept anymore, just passed out when it was safe enough to do so. Or he got knocked out again. What a life he lived.

Entering what could be considered the central hub of Fontaine Futuristics, Atlas found himself a little taken aback that the place still sort of took his breath away. He'd hand it to those rich fucks, they certainly knew how to build a place. Staring at the large staircase that sat centrestage, Atlas peered up and noted that the highest point of the stairs had broken away and hoped they'd not have to claw their way up there for any reason.

Given his track record, Atlas almost expected Alex to come flying back in just to tell them they had to. Atlas had never tried punching a security bot before, but for this he might just make an exception.

Looking to Delta's back he noticed the big daddy had stilled and in turn felt himself tense. Coming to a halt just behind Delta he no longer heard his own wet footsteps and listened to the place.

There was scurrying above them, around corners and in the dark. Splicers muted footsteps splashing here and there as they darted through puddles carelessly, the scrap of metal against walls where the spider bastards scuttled and, distantly, the groan of a big daddy.

Holding his pistol a little tighter, Atlas bit down an aggravated sigh, that would have admittedly been a touch anxious had he let it out. "You watch my back and I got yours, yeah?" He murmured near inaudibly to Delta. Only knowing he'd been heard by the slight tilt of Delta's head.

"Then let's start clearing the place."

Atlas knew he'd leave bodies with ease, but despite Delta's massive statue and being a certified tank on legs, he didn't think the kid would feel so indifferent as he. What a terrible bleeding heart to stuff into a killing machine.

There'd be time to let new ghosts haunt them when they survived this.

And with all the ones Atlas already had floating around, what were a few more anyway?

Laid out before them was yet another unfortunate former employee of Alex's and he'd left the usual message of 'Fired! Fired! Fired!' around the body. It was pinned up to the wall by harpoons that Atlas cringed over. Not wanting to encounter a splicer wielding a gun like that.

So imagine his surprise when Delta went to collect them. Plucking each from the body till it collapsed to the ground in a heap. Atlas continued to watch on, confused at Delta placed each one over his shoulder and into a little compartment strapped to his back, but with no gun to fire them.

"What do you plan to do with those?" Atlas asked and Delta stopped from placing the last one into his makeshift quiver. Turning to Atlas in a way that seemed almost eager, like he wanted to show off.

Laying the spear flat in his hand Delta made sure Atlas was watching before activating his plasmid. The telekinesis picked the spear up, waving it around before straightening out, aiming it and without even needing to toss his arm, Delta hurled the spear into the far wall where it buried itself deep into the cement, pulling a flinch from Atlas.

"I'll be damned…" He cursed, genuinely rather amazed. It made perfect sense and yet Atlas was constantly taken aback by Delta's abilities. They really had made a perfect weapon out of a sweet kid.

"Well, make sure you watch where you toss those. Might take out someone's eye." Once more the seemingly unimpressed air settled around Delta. Atlas offered little more than a smirk and a shrug. "Mine specifically." He clarified.

It was a joke but Delta seemed to take it on board and this time when Atlas saw Delta's hand lifting he knew full well what he wanted to do. Could have tried swatting him away but instead rolled his eyes and let the behemoth lay his massive gloved hand atop his head and give a slight ruffle. Atlas had more or less given up on that front, figured the action was more a comfort to Delta than anything else.

"Yeah, yeah, I know." He groused. "You got my back."

Satisfied, Delta gave a slight nod and pulled the spear back to him with the same force he'd flung it away with. The tip was no longer sharp, but with the force behind Delta's throw it'd likely be deadly all the same and it was placed over his shoulder with the others.

Just as it was safely stored away the familiar sound of scuttling sounded above them. Both turned their eyes upward to see if the splicer was on the ceiling but Atlas saw through a crack in the ground that it was on the second floor, the shadow passing over them abruptly.

Before Atlas could strategise himself, the radio came buzzing to life. He expected Sinclair once again, but instead it was Tenenbaum's steady voice that filtered through the sturdy box.

"Her Atlas, Delta." Her voice was hushed, maybe attempting not to bring too much attention to them. "There are two floors in Fontaine Futuristics that may contain signal relay devices that are under Alex's control. Four exist and should be placed evenly across this facility."

She paused, almost as if hesitant to make such a suggestion and with a deep breath forced herself on. "For the sake of time...you must clear both floors in short time...I would suggest that you part ways to achieve this."

"You want us to split up. Because that couldn't possibly end badly." Atlas muttered, but he understood what Tenenbaum was getting at. They didn't know the location of these things and it would cost them time to go around searching together. It was a dangerous approach, maybe suicidal for Atlas, but he stole a glance at Delta and thought about how the big daddy's body shut down bit by bit the longer this took and how Alex chewed up their time.

Too much more and Delta's mind might snap before his body did.

So, despite his dislike for the idea, Atlas sighed and agreed. "Alright. I hear ya."

Given his approval, Tenenbaum talked hastily. There was an edge to her tone that Atlas couldn't place. As though this was some greatly important decision. Sure, it was risky, but Tenenbaum's attitude set him on edge. Made him increasingly uneasy.

"Her Delta, please clear the first floor. It is sturdy, the second floor is untrustworthy, Atlas, please head up there."

"Oh yeah. Where the spider splicers are. Brilliant." Frowning Atlas glanced to Delta. "You'll be listening through that radio in your helmet, yeah? Just keep and ear out if you hear me screaming bloody murder." It felt a little strange to be actively asking for help, but Atlas felt he'd long since given up trying to distance himself from Delta's assistance. He'd rather be alive than proud.

He was given another slight nod from Delta that should not have been as comforting as it was. Nodding back, Atlas gripped his gun a bit closer and tested his own plasmid. As much as it pained him to rely on the thing, it provided him with some peace of mind to know he could if the situation got messy.

"Alright, meet you back here once we're finished raining on Alex's parade."


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's this? A Delta chapter? In MY Irish man trash fic? It's more likely than you think.

Splitting up with Atlas would not have been Delta's first choice.

Having watched the man vanish up stairs and immediately listening to the following echo of gunfire left Delta on edge. Ever concerned that the man would slip up and be harmed. Delta was accustomed to being generally better protected than others. His body clad in armour that most splicers couldn't dream of getting through. So, despite Atlas being a far cry from a defenceless babe, Delta worried. He was only one man after all.

But the echo of Atlas's voice, a myriad of curses and occasionally insults or victory remarks, helped to ease those concerns. Only marginally so, but Delta would accept it and keep an ear out for Atlas's voice over the radio lines.

Left to his own devices, Delta got to work.

Firstly Delta made his way across the floor, looking for any sign of resistance and catching sight of a splicer scuttling out of sight and into the bathrooms. For the sake of clearing the area and with no joy, Delta followed after them. At a glance they didn't seem to be a particularly strong splicer, but with Atlas around every splicer became too great of a threat for Delta to let slip by. Joyless a task as it was, Delta resolved to make this place as safe as possible.

The splicer had vanished into the women's bathroom and, for as ludicrous as it was, Delta still hesitated at its door. Gazing up at the little symbol for a lady and feeling a tad uncomfortable. He had no right being in a womens lavatory, it went against some instinctual urge to refrain from any vulgar behaviour.

He could practically hear Atlas groaning in his head, exasperated with his priorities.

But inside he could hear the splicer making a ruckus and Delta really had no choice but to go inside.

With a hefty sigh and a great deal if discomfort, Delta pushed aside his displeasure at having to cross the threshold into the bathrooms.

What he found inside was another man that had no place in the women's bathrooms, with a fish in his mouth. Delta stalled for a moment, genuinely taken aback but the sight of the splicer tearing into the raw fish. Delta could see another flopping desperately on a puddle nearby, the leaks having let a bit of wildlife inside.

The sight of the splice ripping chunks of the fish wasn't what really took Delta off guard, though it was mildly unsettling, instead it was the form of the splicer.

Stretched out, its skin didn't seem right for its bones, wrapped around them too tightly, pulling the already pale, flesh further apart from its centre. Its whole torso seemed to have rippled open with only a thin layer of near translucent flesh over its internal organs, Delta could see its rib cage just beneath the surface.

That rippling flesh traveled up to its face where needle sharp teeth currently chewed through the tiny bones of the fish. It's bald, sunken face looked horrendous and painful. Rather than disgust, though Delta couldn't deny he felt some of that as well, he was struck with a deep sort of pity for the thing.

It's body was so warped that it surely had to have been in great pain. That might have been why every sound it made was some ragged, near groan like cry. Even as it ate, every bite produced a new sound that Delta could only think of as pained.

The task had been joyless to start with and remained just as grim, but when Delta rose his arm up to retrieve a spear, there was a sense of renewed justification in his actions. This thing was less human than any other splicer he'd encountered and if it truly was in the excruciating agony that it's body and sounds suggested, this would be nothing short of a mercy killing.

As the spear lightly came to rest in his palm, picked up by the telekinesis plasmid, the splicer seemed to finally notice him over its meal. It had been so engrossed in shredding the fish it had not even seen him until it reached for the other still flopping one at Delta's boots.

Upon seeing him, the splicer reared back and screeched, jaw dropping open and unhinging at the joints. In that single moment Delta could see the dried blood caked around its cheeks and mouth, where it's skin had stretched and torn each time it opened its mouth no doubt. Only able to heal due to the ADAM roaring through its veins.

The gurgling scream it produced only solidified Delta's decision and without hesitation the spear shot out of his palm, striking the creature through the head at close range.

Its body flew back and ended up skewed to the floor, hanging lip from its neck with the spear pinning it to the tiles through the back of its skull. A clean and easy kill. It's skin seemed almost too soft, Delta thought it looked like it had been underwater for too long and this was the result.

It was that thought that brought Delta back to Atlas's warnings of monsters in the depths. He doubted Atlas would be thrilled to think they could return to the land.

Well. It wasn't as though Delta had the means to tell him currently. It was no secret if he was unable to speak.

When Delta went to retrieve the spear this time he found that it had cracked up the side and he knew it would likely break upon the slightest impact now. So rather than wrench it from the creature's head, he opted to leave it there. It was no dignified death, but it was better than Delta messing with its body postmortem. There were precious few respectful things he could do in Rapture, this was the best he could manage.

Over all, Delta was incredibly relieved to be leaving the women's bathroom and he was not about to check the other bathroom for that relay.

If it turned out that was where Alex would put such a thing then perhaps he'd been mad long before he started using a glorified flying box to carry his voice and enact judgment on former employees.

How fortunate that the relay was not at all hard to find. Delta assumed it would be heavily guarded or protected by some sort of shield or gate. But no. He found the relay with such ease that it almost seemed insulting.

He found it only a small distance from the bathrooms, placed in the middle of a dividing wall that stood between the a small section of the facility and the main hub. Delta only briefly glanced up towards the sign behind him and the wall.

' _Plasmid Laboratories_ ', it read.

Delta was not comforted by the sign and decided to momentarily put it from his mind, knowing that he'd have to head in there next, just to ensure he didn't miss another sneakily hidden relay.

Then again, seeing how out in the open and unguarded this one had been, he might have been giving Alex a bit too much credit to think the others would be neatly tucked away somewhere.

The relay was lashed to a security terminal, an odd looking, clunky device that beeped in time with little flashes of light. Delta might have been able to hear it were it not for a nearby running leak that only just drowned out the sound.

To confirm that this was what he'd been sent to find, Delta lifted his hand and gestured to the device he found fastened to the wall and then turned his palm up in a questioning motion.

His ever present audience and guides chimed in. "That's the relay." Sinclair confirmed, sounding rather pleased. "Just bust up that bad boy and we'll be a bit closer to control of this place."

That he could do.

Just as Delta reached for the device, the man of the hour came rushing back into the scene. Alex made himself known once again by flying around Delta's head and screeching.

"Don't you dare touch that signal relay, Delta! Its value is ten times that of your own!" He warned angrily.

Now, Delta highly doubted that. He was no engineer but looking at this thing he didn't think it contained half the design or labour that had gone into himself. In fact it looked painfully fragile for something so valuable.

As if picking up on Delta's somewhat mischievous train of thought, the radio came buzzing to life.

"Do it, Delta!" He heard Atlas holler through the radio and could not help but roll his eyes. Better Atlas be in a petty mood rather than one of his gloomier or angrier ones.

Delta did wonder if Atlas was aware of how transparent he could be. It worried him a lot.

Grabbing the relay Delta began squeezing until it began to crack and crunch down in his fist only to then finally shatter into a dozen pieces, rendered completely useless as he dropped the largest of its pieces onto the floor.

"I'm very disappointed in you, Delta." Alex snarled and, shockingly, Delta didn't feel terribly remorseful over that. "Destruction of a Fontaine asset is punishable by summary dismissal!" Funny, seeing as far as Alex seemed concerned, he was still a Fontaine asset.

It was no surprise when Alex punctuated his displeasure with more violence. " Shall I simplify that for you? Fired. Fired!  _Fired!"_

And so Alex sent more people to die.

Delta heard them coming before the first splicer came hurling around the corner, right into the path of his drill. Without even needing to start it up, Delta slammed the massive weight into the splicer's body, sending the monster that had once been a man at a glance, flying back into the opposite wall. It's body struck the cement, cracked once and went limp. Delta had turned away before it hit the ground and met the rest.

The first came in the form of a flying piece of sharpened metal that just nicked his shoulder. Bouncing off the padding and protective casing, leaving little more than a scratch though the force of the strike caused Delta to stagger one step back.

The splicer responsible for hurling it followed soon after, cackling as it came crawling along the walls in his direction. Pale, stretched limbs feverishly scrambling ever closer to him, out of hooks it seemed.

A flash of red from his peripheral alerted Delta to a houini splicer, but his attention needed to remain forward and so it became a juggling act. The spider splicer had no long range abilities left, but the houdini was slippery, if he left it alone too long it could blindside him with a blast of fire or vanish off somewhere he couldn't spot.

Prioritising was key and much to Delta's displeasure, he'd become  _very_  apt at the art of slaughter.

With one hand he summoned a spear from his quiver and with the other he brought the drill roaring to life. Focus split between controlling the ADAM rushing through his veins to reach out and snare the spear for him. Angling it as Delta focused on the spider splicer that scuttled its way towards him.

As it drew closer to him, Delta began building pressure behind the spear. Only just able to keep the houdini in sight and seeing it building up energy of its own in its palms. Bright red flames licking at its arms. It was growing the flame larger and brighter, no doubt thinking it needed to put as much power behind the blow as it could.

Intending to take him to the ground quickly in one hit if it could. That gave him a deadline.

Keeping that in mind, Delta struck out with the drill. A spike of frustration surging through him as the spider splicer leapt further up the wall and caused him to leave a massive hole in it rather than hitting his intended target.

It began to laugh at him again and Delta released the coiled tension behind the spear, sending it hurtling off over his shoulder and towards the secondary target, allowing him to whip that now free hand forward to grasp the cackling splicer's skull.

For the briefest moment there was a flicker of true comprehension behind the splicer's wild stare. A second of realisation as those milky white eyes went wide with terror. It had miscalculated and recognised this as a extremely final mistake.

Delta smashed its skull into the wall only a second before the harpoon struck the houdini splicer through the shoulder. He'd been aiming for its heart. There was nothing enjoyable in a drawn out struggle.

The spider splicer's fate was the clean kill Delta desired. It took only the one strike to feel something in its skull crack and crush inwards, all but instantly killing the creature. No need for it to grasp at life and spend final moments in agony.

It was the most mercy Delta could afford them.

Turning from the body as it crumbled to lay lifelessly at his feet, Delta caught sight of the houdini struggling. One arm useless and limp at its side while the spear continued to wave in the air in front of it, impaled through its body, harder to remove than it was likely able to handle.

Staggering the splicer began to light up again, this time Delta was less concerned, knowing that with an injury like that, it would not be too hard to find and if it fled from Fontaine Futuristics entirely, then it was no longer on his radar.

It would likely die from that wound if left unattended regardless. Though Delta was down a spear if it left and he only had two remaining.

The choice was presented simply enough. Delta weighed his options while powering down the drill. Even as the splicer vanished in a bright snap of red, Delta pondered.

Retrieve the spear and remove any lingering threat the splicer might pose or leave it to run and likely bleed out or fall to infection.

If he were to be honest, the choice was an easy one. It just made sense to hunt the splicer down. Delta simply didn't  _want_  to.

Unfortunately necessity outweighed wants and so Delta began trailing after the splicer.

As expected, it was not difficult to find. Delta only needed to follow the sounds of its struggling. He found it only a small distance away, collapsed by the large staircase centred in the main hall. It didn't seem to know what to do with the harpoon stuck in it. The end having come through the other side, the shape of the spear head making it hard to remove.

Delta resolved to take it out only once the splicer was dead. No need to terrorise it more by trying to remove it before hand.

Seeing the big daddy coming, the panic lit up in the splicer immediately and it tried to scramble up to its feet. It wasn't able to move quickly enough, the injured shoulder taking its balance away and causing the splicer to stumble back to the ground during the first attempt.

Had it the EVE left, Delta had no doubt it would have tried to teleport away by now. Meaning it was running dry.

Sliding his rivet gun down off his shoulder, Delta briefly checked his ammunition, knowing that every second he took to finish this, was another second the splicer spent terrified. He didn't want to scare anyone, but being what he was now, Delta was sure he'd only ever scare people.

Atlas was still scared of him.

That single fact took up all of his thoughts as Delta took aim. Atlas had adjusted to him a lot since they met, but he'd knocked that adjustment back down a few times.

Atlas trusted him and in one moment where he lost himself to the madness that Tenenbaum warned him would become permanent if they didn't get to his Eleanor soon enough...in that one moment he'd shattered that trust. And very nearly Atlas's rib cage along with it.

Pulling the trigger became a near thoughtless action. Jarring Delta slightly when the rivet fired, however once he was paying attention once again, Delta fired twice more, wanting to be sure that the kill didn't last too long.

The first rivet struck the splicers chest, the two following found their mark in its head. The scream it produced only lasted long enough for the second bullet to land.

With a hefty sigh Delta placed his gun back over his shoulder. Sparing only a second glance back at the body to ensure it was truly still, before heading back to the objective.

Stupid as they were, at least some splicers avoided him now. Usually the weaker ones. Stronger splicers so often rushed towards their own demise.

They'd become far more hell bent on this recently. The closer they got to Lamb, the more willing the splicers seemed, to throw themselves on the blade for the woman. For their faith in her.

If Delta were to assign blame, it would land squarely on Lamb's shoulders.

Not that Alex was making a terribly convincing case for himself as his voice chimed in again, this time over the radios and not through his own personal bot. "My, you really are the destructive type aren't you? A little stealth wouldn't go amiss!"

Stealth. In this gear. Right.

"Now you leave the rest of those relays alone, Delta! Those things don't grow on trees...not that we can grow trees down here anymore." Alex's mutterings only gave Delta more reason for concern.

There were trees down here, right? At least at some point? How long could the city sustain itself without even  _some_  plant life? The whole city was cracking, breaking at every seam bit by bit. There'd be nothing to hold it together soon.

And, somewhere, his girl was all alone in it.

Thinking of Eleanor, knowing her voice so well even now, Delta pushed on forward. Sinclair called it necessity, Tenenbaum thought it repentance - to get to Eleanor, it all had some sort of value to them.

But for Delta? For him it was little more than a must and he refused to believe it was any instinct instilled in him by their experiments. Eleanor was just a child in his memory. Sweet and bright. His little girl, no matter what Lamb said.

For Delta it was nothing more than a matter of love.

And there was so precious little of it left to spare in Rapture.

Entering the Plasmid Laboratories Delta was met with a rather underwhelming room. It was little more than a box with a wide viewing window. Of course, this was still in the public section of Fontaine Futuristics, made to show off their accomplishments and scientific advancements. Though Delta noted immediately how grim a view the window provided. Achievements and their blatant lack of humanity on display for all.

Behind the glass was a medical chamber, complete with shelves littered with scalpels, needles and a number of devices that Delta did not actively understand but caused his skin to prickle with the memory of their sting. Sitting upright was an surgical table, the straps hanging loose with nobody to hold to its surface and the entire place was flooded.

The stream of water that had obscured the beeps of the relay device coming from here. The pour of water from the ceiling was substantial and Delta thought that given enough time it would overflow unless it was raining somewhere else.

Floating through the water was everything else they'd once used on the test subjects. Delta couldn't say he was sad to see them rusted and in ruins.

Stepping inside to get a proper look at the rest of the small room Delta was momentarily thrown completely off balance by the sight of what he, for just a split second, mistook as himself.

Laying lifeless in the corner of the room was another big daddy and it looked almost exactly like him. An Alpha Series big daddy… it's design was older than his own at a guess. It lacked the drill latched to his arm though it had a rivet gun laid across its lap.

Shaken, Delta for a moment didn't move to do anything else and couldn't take his eyes off the corpse.

Quietly, Sinclair's voice spoke to him. "You holding up okay, champ?" He asked even though Delta couldn't answer him in earnest.

"You knew how this worked. Big Daddies, their human lab rats, you know all of this already, kid. When your DNA just couldn't take another tug, they blanked out your brains an' stitched you into that suit." He reminded as though Delta could forget.

Maybe he'd tell Sinclair how poorly their attempts to wipe his mind stuck. The longer he was conscious and free of the big daddy programing, the more little memories returned to him.

Delta knew Sinclair a bit better now. He recognised that callousness as a deflection of sorts. To avoid letting any feeling sink in too deep. Delta wasn't like that, he didn't reject those feelings, negative or otherwise.

Gaining control of himself again, Delta slowly approached the other alpha series. Taking a knee before it, really, truly looking. Trying to cement in his mind that this was what he was as well outside his own mind. He wondered idly if this one had a little sister with him before dying. He hoped not.

Thinking that had he been killed by a splicer when little Eleanor was still with him, it turned his gut horribly.

It helped none when Sinclair mused. "Kinda curious how you're the only one who hasn't gone squirrelly after all this time."

There were few means of communication that Delta could utilize but in that moment he was at least able to life his palm, splay his fingers flat and make a 'so-so' motion. Sinclair surprised bark of laughter helped to ease some of Delta's nerves.

It was a grim situation and he knew Sinclair meant no real harm when he blundered through his words and said some things that could often be incredibly insensitive or even seemed antagonistic at times. A bit of dark humour went a long way in times like this.

"Well don't go talking my ear off." Sinclair groused and Delta's shoulders began to shake with that silent laughter of his own.

Until another of those slowly returning memories came to him.

" _You talk too much, Johnny."_ A warm voice told him.

The memory couldn't be quite right because he knew it was from Rapture but it felt warm. Like the artificial light coming in through the window was real. He recalled smelling paint and dust. Something musty like a collection of old books that had just been stirred.

And in the past, when he'd been told he was too much of a chatterbox, there'd been a flicker of indigence, a need to prove otherwise that only resulted in more words pouring out. Like he just didn't know how to turn off the stream of conscious thought.

Delta no longer knew what was said, the stream of chatter that had once been his voice was now important. So many words but he couldn't pick out a single one of value from the memory.

Not until the man in his recollection gave a soft chuckle. Soothing, gentle, ever patient with the child nipping at his heels. Even now Delta felt somewhat comforted by it.

" _Never change."_ The memory reminded him.

No matter how badly he wanted to obey that reminder, Delta could do now was lift a heavily armoured hand to his chest, where no more words could come out. Rendering him silent, unable to live up to the avid talker he'd once been.

He'd changed through no choice of his own and looking back at the person he'd been when his voice came freely to him, Delta hadn't been able to decide if it was a comfort or just another cruelty he lived with.

Not until these memories, painful as they were, returned to him.

Little snippets of the city glowing before him in the depths of the ocean. A shining city before him to discover and perhaps more important than anything else, those fleeting voices of people he'd known, laughing with him.

Delta knew that he was no long 'Johnny' in the same way as he'd once been, but he clutched those fading memories close and built them into the person he was becoming. Someone that would have still laughed with those lost friends were he able.

Fortunately those that he knew currently pulled him from those thoughts in the form of Sinclair clearing his throat. Apparently he'd been lingering too long.

"Right you are, champ. Let's get back on track then." Sinclair urged and Delta agreed silently, rising back to his feet with only a parting glance at the other alpha series. Adding it to the list of people Rapture had destroyed.

And as he 'got back on track' Delta liked to think that for all the friends he'd lost - maybe he'd made some new ones in this life as Delta.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This got long so here's part one of this pain.

Sinclair was...anxious.

For lack of a less vulnerable term. Trust him, if there were a way to phrase it in a less vulnerable way, he'd have found it.

Sitting back in his seat Sinclair pulled his fingers through his hair and attempted to bite down the sigh threatening to get out of him. The effort fell just short and Sinclair made a soft irritated sound. Just as well the radio was left off.

Wearily he looked through Delta's eyes in a sense, the gentle back and forth of his every step could get a little disorientating at times. It was not the easiest viewing experience in the world, but it was what they had.

Delta had returned to being focused after that small scene he'd stumbled across. It would have been ludicrous to think he'd never once come across others like himself. Even if they were long dead.

And, admittedly, Sinclair might not have had the best words for Delta when he had. He'd just gotten a bit defensive when seeing the other big daddy lying there. Wondering what it was the kid was thinking. What he might have been remembering.

Despite himself, Sinclair's gaze dropped over to the side, looking behind him to where the small stash of oddities Delta and the girls had gathered lay. Most of the pile was a collection of audio diaries that for some reason or another, the girls tended to gather and occasionally Delta would even bring in. Sinclair tended to leave them unlistened to. If they were something damning then he was sure they'd be brought to his attention immediately.

However, what Sinclair was looking at was not the old voices of ghosts. Rather he was looking at the rolled up painting Delta had gotten from Atlas. It was one of the few good things Atlas seemed capable of doing and Sinclair rather despised him for doing so.

He knew that the nagging sense of endangerment that kept growing larger as it loomed over him was the cause of his hostility towards Atlas and by the same vein, the painting.

A million ways to phrase things, to use half truths and make sympathetic excuses were running around his mind. Preparing him in case Fontaine Futuristics happened to implicate him.

Helped none that he could feel Tenenbaum's eyes on him at almost all times. Knowing that she was not once fooled by him, and held her tongue for whatever reasons she saw fit. It was because of this he didn't confront her more.

Sinclair knew she was playing some sort of game, but if he demanded she loosen her tongue about that then she might just keep speaking and reveal him as well.

He was at an impasse and all he could do was talk to Delta at times. Urge him to move on forward, closer to the surface and cross his fingers with the hopes he'd never have to explain himself.

Delta seemed to be doing the responsible thing currently. Clearing out splicers where he could, collecting supplies, ensuring he was ready for battles to come. It was a slow process and it allowed Sinclair to rise from his seat. Needing to vent some of his frustration through movement.

Stepping out of his seat, Sinclair approached their collection of oddities with a pinched brow. Looking down at the pile of gathered treasures, at least that was how the children thought of them. The rusted audio diaries would only occasionally catch Sinclair's eye, once or twice wondering if he recognised one or two out of the lot. It was absurd to think so, they were all but identical, but if he looked long enough he swore a few of those were ones he'd once used. He brushed that inkling aside, not wanting to entertain the thought that he was right and Delta had heard him in his prime where he was less likely to paint a pretty picture of himself.

Kneeling down, Sinclair plucked up the painting, turning the rolled up canvas in his hand. Inspecting it and wondering just how quickly it would light up if he took his lighter to it.

Sinclair was clever enough not to do so.

It was while he was considering the painting that he noticed a new treasure he hadn't seen before. It gave him reason for pause, the little homemade big daddy toy.

Slowly Sinclair set the painting back down and reached for the oddly assembled toy. Crudely stitched together the Frankenstein doll was made from pieces that just didn't match. A baseball head, watched lashed to its front to act as one big, shining eye and a mismatch of other toys limbs.

To be honest, it was nothing he'd hand to a child. There were needles, old metal clips and sharp edges littered across its body, truly it was rather unsafe.

"That's mine." A little voice said.

Sinclair startled, nearly dropping the toy before looking to the doorway and seeing one of the girls there. The newest to the bunch. He hadn't spoken to her at all yet and his mind rapidly ran through all the different ways to both appease a child and not too harshly tell them to leave him alone.

Beatrice was looking at him like he was only one step away from being a splicer and that was a little off putting given she seemed rather comfortable around Atlas who actually had some splicer in him.

"Yours?" Sinclair ventured, holding the toy up. Maybe hoping that if he handed it to her she'd go on her merry way.

Instead Beatrice seemed to shuffle uneasily. Hands pressed against the doorway and gaze flicking between the ground and the toy in Sinclair's hand. Thinking about something rather deeply.

Just as Sinclair was about to lose his patience she spoke up again. "You can...borrow it." She finally got out, and judging by how the words sounded damn near pained, she didn't like that one bit. That, and it might have had something to do with her English being just a touch broken. He'd occasionally heard the child speaking in French around the other girls. If only to confuse them.

They'd been snatching kids from all over the place apparently.

Sinclair was ready to hand her back the toy. He certainly didn't want it. Borrowed or not. He wasn't given the chance.

"Until...Delta is back." She clarified, dark eyes briefly landing on his face before away again, unable to hold the eye contact. "For safeness."

Helpfully, Sinclair only uttered, "Oh."

A short silence fell between them, Sinclair at a loss for how to proceed and the girl not exactly confident enough to speak again. It was terribly awkward until Sinclair looked back to the raggedy looking thing, unable to see in what way this would encourage 'safeness', though he supposed it made some sense. They were programed to look to Big Daddies for protection, even once free of their conditioning, that sort of association probably didn't just evaporate.

"Well, if ya need him to feel safe-" Sinclair began, attempting to offer the toy to her and all but immediately be shut down.

Beatrice reached towards his hand and rather than take the offering, She urged Sinclair's hands back towards himself, little fingers pressing his own over the doll insistently.

"For you." She said sternly.

"For me?"

"Yes." Beatrice nodded.

"Sweetheart, I don't need no-"

"But you do. Until Delta is back." She reminded just as sternly and it finally clicked for him.

Sinclair found himself at a loss, looking at Beatrice who only scowled down at their hands, firmly holding the doll to Sinclair's palm. So many dismissive words crossed his mind. Ways to ease the girl's misplaced need to somehow provide him with comfort, but not a single one managed to pass his lips.

Here was a child doing her best to offer him comfort and he'd given nothing of the sort to them.

 _'_ _Euthanasia, son. That's all it is_ _.'_

Sinclair flinched but the reaction prompted him to keep on moving. Fingers closing wholly around the toy again though he truly had no need of it. He was feeling, more so now than ever, that looming sense of judgement bearing down on him.

Rapture had been a pipe dream. Ryan's, Fontaine's...and his.

They just all had very different dreams. No single one more deserving or less selfish than the other's. They were all over now and Sinclair had to leave his own behind.

That dream of rising above all accountability, dismissing humanity at every turn. It was all gone now and what he had left was a history of callous decisions. With a girl standing in front of him that he'd have left for dead using the thought of a slug and euthanasia to wash his conscience clean.

But Beatrice, just like Lucy, and Eseme and Viola, they were all perfectly alive little girls again. If he were to be honest, as much as it made his skin crawl, they'd never stopped being little girls.

Despite how his chest tightened and Sinclair found it increasingly difficult to turn a blind eye or keep his mouth shut, he managed to put on a fairly easy going smile.

"That's mighty kind of ya, sweetheart." He told her gently.

When she managed a smile back Sinclair couldn't tell if he felt all the worse for it or just a bit better.

Standing up, Sinclair took the doll back to their little observation set up and after some consideration, set it down next to the main monitor. A little companion of sorts. Amusing if nothing else.

Behind him Beatrice lingered and Sinclair's stomach twisted a bit seeing her look at the painting. It would hold no meaning to her, likely she was just looking over their little collection of memories. Sinclair was aware that he was being hyper focused on the thing, but that tended to happen when Delta was walking through the ruins of his past and his own crimes.

Seeking to ease the girl's mind, Sinclair offered another smile. "Don't you worry none. Those two will be just fine out there. You just stay right here, good and safe, they'll be back before you know it."

It was clear as day that Beatrice wasn't convinced, but she nodded all the same.

"Right, off you bed with you. Tenenbaum will have my head if you lot are up past bedtime."

Beatrice snorted in derision and Sinclair felt his smile become just a bit more genuine. Brat.

Without protesting Beatrice glanced at him once more, offering a simple, "Night." before heading back into the depths of the train.

"Goodnight." Sinclair replied though the girl was long gone. Once again he was alone in the control room.

Well, not entirely alone. He had his little toy big daddy now. For what good it did him. Smiling tiredly Sinclair sat himself back down, checking in with Delta again.

Immediately Sinclair felt jaded as he watched Delta make his way to another section of Fontaine's show rooms. The plasmid theatre...he'd been there a number of times himself. Remembered the displays they'd put on and how disinterested he'd been in anything beyond estimating the money that could be made from each 'product'.

Almost without realising he was doing it, Sinclair reached to flick the radio on. "Hey, chief..." He began, voice halting before anything of meaning could be said.

What was he expecting himself to say?

The words he thought he should say were circling in his head, but to say them out loud was too hard. His motivations might have shifted a little bit. Maybe. Knowing that if it all came out now, Delta would likely turn on him.

In the past that was a fear that involved thoughts of a drill through the chest or a rivet passing between his eyes. Now? Sinclair did not believe Delta would do such a thing. But, what he stood to lose felt no less significant.

Still, he had to say  _something_. Delta's feed had stilled, the kid was listening to him. As he always did.

So he gave Delta just a little piece of himself.

"Now might not be the optimal time for this but I just wanted to say that I...I never really knew those girls were still human under there." He admittedly, regret strong in his words. Delta knew this.

He'd been the one listening when Sinclair first advised 'euthanasia' instead of Tenenbaum's methods. That had been his suggestion and he could still feel the sting of Delta's disapproval. Didn't need to speak a single word and Sinclair could feel how he shunned him all the same.

"Something like that could...well, might could make a man re-evaluate his position…"

It was a poor attempt at some earnestness, Sinclair recognised that. But he was unable to offer more.

Crimes he was rather stayed dead and buried too heavy to bring to the surface himself. Maybe one day he'd tell Delta himself, about what he'd done to him in a previous life, but he couldn't force the words today.

This was the best he had.

"It's just that I… well I-" Sinclair began to speak again, more hastily now, reaching for justifications that he couldn't make up fast enough.

Only to see Delta moving again through his screen. They had so few ways of proper communication that worked two ways, but Delta had little tells he could give.

A so-so movement for when he wasn't doing so hot, or in this case, a thumbs up of all things.

The motion got a startled laugh out of Sinclair that just edged on something bordering hysteria. Just so taken off guard by Delta's seemingly endless willingness to provide support. After that quick breath of laughter faded, Sinclair was left smiling faintly, still in disbelief of this kid.

"Well, I'll be damned. You are something else, chief." He sighed and given how the image shifted up and down distinctly, Delta must have shrugged.

There was still a long way to go and Sinclair knew already that it was going to be a painful road there and maybe Delta would be less forgiving with him soon, but for now, they were together on it.

"Alright, kid." Sinclair spoke a bit more sternly; sitting forward a he watched the screen. "This part is gonna be a mite unpleasant. Ol' Alexander used to run a pretty successful circus down here back in the day. I reckon he'll put on a show for ya."

It would be awfully nice if, for a change, Sinclair weren't right.

 

…  
...

 

Delta had paused to listen to Sinclair speak. Rather taken off guard by what he had to say. Not that he was in any way disappointed by what Sinclair wanted to share with him.

For Sinclair, it was an improvement just to say outwardly what was happening in his head.

In fact, Sinclair seemed very similar to Atlas in that regard. Delta wished he could have his voice back, if only for a moment, to tell them they weren't nearly as slick as they thought they were.

Snickering silently to himself, Delta tossed aside the oil can he'd been refuelling his drill with. He had been burning through fuel at a fairly concerning pace as of late. The result was a far safer environment, but it hadn't gotten him another relay device. That was alright, Delta was looking towards the area he was sure it must have been.

The Plasmid Showroom didn't sound pleasant, but that was par for the course at this point.

For as safe as he'd made the surrounding areas there was still something on his mind. He'd not yet encountered the big daddy he and Atlas had heard upon entering. He'd searched for it, more out of a desire to see if there was a little sister in need of help than out of any desire for conflict. But he'd been unable to locate the other monster.

He doubted it had gone upstairs. The floor didn't exactly seem safe for anything of their size and honestly he was fairly sure that if anything the size and weight of a regular big daddy went up there, it would come crashing right back through the decaying floors.

As far as they went, his model was the lightest out there and even he didn't fancy trying his footing up there.

Just as he didn't like to consider that there might be another like himself out there still. Knowing their fate was to go insane or shut down. Often both he was learning.

Getting into the plasmid showroom was a bit difficult. Alex had a turret trained on the hallway there and Delta had nearly missed it, very narrowly avoiding getting himself blow up by a rocket. Catching it mid-air, barely an arms length away from his face, and turning it back around, striking the turret with it's own ammunition.

When it exploded, Alex had complained endlessly.

"You brute!" He accused. "The poor little thing. Never did anything to no one! And you come along and murder it while it's just doing its job. Have you no heart?"

Delta had learnt to tune Alex out. He complained and accused him of being a monster when he destroyed bots of any kind and heaven forbid he hack one. Alex tended to flip flop between praising his successful hacking attempts and mocking him relentlessly for being less knowledgeable on machines than himself.

"A man after my own heart." He swooned when Delta turned a security bot on him. Warning him not to do it again, saying that he'd let it slide just this once because it was ever so cute to watch him try.

"I designed that device, Delta! You fumble at it like an amorous baboon!" He insulted Delta when he disabled a security camera. They were far more aggressive in their timing here he'd noticed. Alex's tampering no doubt.

Then, finally, when Alex had seemingly reached his wits end he'd simply sighed dramatically and asserted. "This is just getting stupid!" They were in agreement on that if nothing else.

When none of his complaints, insults or admirations seemed to catch Delta's attention, Alex tried something a bit different.

Bargaining.

"Delta... in regards to your termination... perhaps I was hasty. Would you like to return to custodial services? Leave the rest of my security relays intact, and we'll just forget about the whole thing, hmm?"

Unsurprisingly, this was no more successful and Delta continued on his merry way. Taking out another security bot before batting Alex's personal one away once again. It took a lot of damage but seeing as it could do no real harm, Delta didn't go to great lengths to destroy it.

And then, after that, Alex had gone quiet.

Delta had come to a halt the first time he noticed Alex's suspicious lack of presence. No bot following him around annoyingly, or constant chatter over the radio. Just...quiet.

It ought to have been a relief, but it had begun to make Delta uneasy. He made his way through the decayed halls to the showroom. Abandoned plasmid testers set up around the place, practically begging to be used. They were fashioned like carnival skill testers and Delta wondered if they'd ever been used by the general public or if they were all for the test subjects. They were not in good working anymore regardless. A few left upturned in the water, now useless.

The back way to the Spectacular Theatre was dark.

Dark and still.

No splicers stirred and even the leaks and drips seemed minimal despite the large bodies of water scattered around. Looking around, Delta saw signs of struggles in the past. Large chunks of the wall torn out and debris everywhere.

He could see evidence of bullet spray in the walls and piles of ruins that he could only guess were made by larger explosions. But he couldn't see any rocket launcher turrets anyway. Not even the foundations for ones that had been destroyed or removed. The evidence of their fire was there, but they were not.

The last thing he needed was for a splicer to be carrying around a rocket launcher of their own or to run into a Rumbler.

Cautiously Delta kept on.

There was that feeling crawling up his spine again. The one that warned him of places he'd already been. Vague memories of seeing these walls when they were still whole and not decaying very slowly passing through his thoughts. Not sharp or pointed, but insistent. That knowledge that he'd been here before impossible to escape.

Delta let the thoughts in, allowed his memory to piece together slowly and as he reached the end of the hall he already knew what wait on the otherwise. Perhaps it would be destroyed almost beyond recognition, but this was the showroom, their theatre. Where they'd 'performed' in the past.

Those memories were the haziest he had.

The early days of his existence as a big daddy, no coherent thought or desires, just the pain and plasmids. The fighting and the anger, all the screaming. And then, finally, the paradise that was handed to him when his daughter was placed into his care.

But for as distant and muddled a memory it was, Delta knew the theatre too well. They'd no doubt been paraded in here before, Delta and the other alpha series big daddies. The place where they'd all been forced to fight and destroy one another.

He knew to be alive today he must have won every fight they'd put him in.

Once, when he was still a man but Delta was not, Alexander had told him that he had a strong will. After the show he'd been told that parasites wanted everything, wanted a free ride, but they lacked to will to do so. Alexander had told him that and now as Delta sorted through his memories bit by bit, he remembered the most important thing he'd been told.

"The price of greatness is a dear one, Delta." Alexander Gilbert had told him and he knew that if Alex, as he was not, were to echo it, he'd be crowing the words with such enthusiasm.

Not the quiet understanding Alexander had first spoken those words with.

But Delta had never really wanted greatness. It was something that those scientists had thrust unto him and told him that he must have wanted. Because everyone in Rapture wanted it. It was the most valuable thing. Greatness. Success. Power.

They never once believed he didn't want that too. But all Delta wanted was the laughter in his memories.

Instead he was here, looking at a 'Please wait to be seated!' sign that stood uselessly outside of the theatre's back entrance. Clearly there hadn't been any shows in a while to have all these signs left out back in disuse. Instead here he was once again, waiting to be brought onto the stage.

The difference now was that when Alexander spoke to him it was not with a calm, detached tone, but one of manic elation.

"ADAM, Delta!" Alex's voice repeated abruptly, causing Delta to jump in alarm. "One little jab in the arm, and even a hopeless under performer can be employee of the month! And you should know."

For as pitiless as Gilbert had been, as Alex he was far worse. The sadism in his insanity had long since begun to grate on Delta's nerves.

Just as he was prepared to block out Alex's ravings again, that personalised security bot appeared above his head, staring down at him with that never blinking eye.

"Look around you, Delta." Alex purred, voice uncharacteristically low. "Is any of this.. _.familiar?"_

Alex still had ultimate control over the theatre and with that control he drew the heavy red curtains before Delta back with a flare of show lights and...confetti of all things. He was about as tacky as he'd always been.

The stage was just as he'd remembered it and as the curtains drew back Delta saw his homecoming gift.

_WELCOME BACK DELTA!_

Burnt in bold, sloppy letter onto the stage floor before him and out ahead of him under the familiar glare of show lights was the spectator's gallery.

Littered with still bodies. Logically Delta realised they were all dead, corpses propped up to enjoy an imaginary show. Alex's work no doubt. But for a second he truly thought he was right back in another trial and any moment he'd be meeting another just like himself to fight until one of them didn't get back up.

This fear served as a spike of adrenaline and Delta drew his drill closer to his body, EVE prickling through his veins as he anticipated an attack that did not immediately come.

"Yes, yes!" Alex called over the artificial sound of a crowd cheering. "I know, we're all very excited to have our show stealer back on the stage after so long! But hold your applause ladies and gents, for today we have a brand new show for you all!"

The fear went nowhere. Delta remained on edge, body locked up as he looked around the theatre in quick little jerks. There was panic in him, he knew that and panic could cause him to make stupid mistakes, but being back here with Alex's voice booming above him, it left Delta disorientated.

"For tonight and tonight only! Allow me to introduce you all to Fontaine Futuristics newest line of defence!"

Delta, shaken as he was, recognise this lead in. Alex had used it for him in the past, when he'd been their newest model. Trying to calm his nerves to at least listen enough that he might guess the threat before it was unleashed, Delta attempted to stop trembling and focus.

On the stage he felt more alone than he ever had. The lights were on him, the dead lining the seats offered about as much sympathy as they had when alive and he knew the only purpose of his being here was to fight something for Alex's amusement once again.

He really wished that Atlas was with him right now.

With the same amount of showmanship that Alex had presented him with, he presented their 'newest line of defence' for a dead city.

All the lights turned off Delta abruptly, flashing up ahead of him to the viewing gallery, which was by no means where a contender should have come from, but that's exactly what happened.

Slowly, a new monster of Alex's was revealed to Delta.

It was a monster of a big daddy that came lumbering out into the light. He could recognise it as a variation of one of his own, but only by the association he made between big daddies and Alex.

Every step the big daddy took was heavy enough that Delta felt the stage tremble. Its massive form almost matched that of a Rumbler. Delta nearly mistook it for one at a glance. But it was too smoothed, too rounded off and armoured. Even if it shared a heavy set of rocket launches on its shoulders with a Rumbler.

He'd never seen a big daddy like this before, every part of it above its waist was clad in protective, shield like armour. With its massive bulk the creature looked as though it could take the impact of a rocket and pull on through. Even had its armour casing not been enough, the large riot shield that adorned its left arm looked sturdy enough to deflect any plasmid a splicer tossed at it.

Alex said it was the newest in their line of defence, he could see why.

Stunned Delta stood stationary as the other bid daddy entered the arena, doing so by smashing straight through the viewing glass that had been designed to keep projectiles inside and protect the audience. It shattered through the glass without seeming to put any effort behind the action.

And as it came to stand just below Delta, not yet violent without command, Alex excitedly began crowing once more.

"The Demo Daddy!" Alex presented with a near violent flare. "Never presented beyond the production line, a pride and joy of mine in recent years. A...passion project let's call him."

Elated the box with Alex's voice came flying in front of Delta again after making two laps around his prized creation.

"True. Plasmids didn't  _quite_  take with him." Alex admitted with a kind of 'what can you do' tone. "But no matter, for what stuck? Oh did it stick! This here is Fontaine Futuristics most heavily armoured walking war machine! A personal achievement of yours truly."

Once the introductions were over with and Delta was left staring at this big daddy, supposedly just as much a slave as he'd once been and the only of its kind. He felt a pang of pity and following quickly after, fear. He'd have to find a way to defeat this thing and just looking at its stature, he knew it would be much harder than tussling with a bouncer.

In his stillness and silence, Alex interjected. More coldly now.

"So. Shall we see how you shape up to your successor, Delta?"


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tad self indulgent but...heck when am I not?

It happened all so quickly.

Very rarely was Delta the more mobile opponent. Sinclair had referred to him as a tank once or twice and he was certainly built like one. But when the Demo Daddy lashed out at him, Delta was sent scrambling.

Delta saw light sparking in the barrels of the shoulder mounted rockets and knew from experience with Rumblers and turrets that time was not his friend in moments like these. Too thrown off guard to summon up his telekinesis, Delta had no choice but to charge out of the way.

That first explosion of debris told Delta very quickly that this big daddy was not built with standard protection in mind. There was sea life growing along its body, signifying it had spent much of its time out in the depths and Alex was ever so eager to show off his creation.

"Oh now! That was terribly close, Delta! Wouldn't want to punch your ticket this soon into the show, that would be no good." He chided, cackling with the words. "Demo here keeps Rapture safe from the common rabble. Perhaps your superior can re-educate you some, Delta. You'll be welcomed back onto the force with open arms!"

As Alex went on about his own delusions, Delta gathered himself back up, or at least, tried to.

His limbs felt weak, jelly like as he stumbled to keep his composure. When he faced the Demo Daddy again, he could feel his heart beating away violently in his chest, more afraid than angry. The urge to turn tail and run presented itself strongly in his mind and were it not for the knowledge that this was undoubtedly the way to a relay signal, he might have just done that.

But the only way was forward and the Demo Daddy stood between it and he.

" _Herr_  Delta!" Tenenbaum's voice sounded through the radio, panicked but coming with an attempt to help. "This thing you face, it is still apart of the series you were apart of, the helmet can be removed."

But how could he  _get_  to its helmet?

"This...Demo Daddy, I have seen blueprints for it, but I never expected Gilbert to create the creature. It was designed to guard Rapture's gates, to sink submarines and ships from the depths. You will be unable to penetrate its shell with a rivet."

Just like that he was left with a gun now rendered useless.

Delta saw the Demo's rockets heating up again and in a snap decision ripped a harpoon from the quiver with his telekinesis, taking clumsy aim in his haste. The spear fired off towards the larger big daddy and it, at the very least, was able to change the Demo's focus. Lifting its shield clad arm up to protect itself. His harpoon struck the metal and with barely a scratch, bent and went spinning off in the opposite direction. Useless.

While Delta tried to come up with another plan of attack, the Demo seemingly changed it's own tactics. Delta recognised the way it's body lowered slightly, tensed up under the thick armour just before it charged. There was nowhere to go when the Demo got moving in such close quarters.

Panicked, Delta drew his drill up, trying to time the movement to strike the Demo's side as he moved. Unable to stop the forward force, but attempting to throw its weight off in a different direction and divert the power of the attack off course.

He found some success as the Demo struck his drill and it's weight veered off the side, but he was unable to completely spare his body the blow. The Demo's side striking his other arm. The force of the impact raced up his arm from hand to shoulder and Delta felt something give way with an audible  _snap_.

Bellowing Delta tried to reach for his damaged arm only to once again recall he could not do so with the drill attached and was forced to let it hang limp at his side. Behind him the Demo had struck the wall, shield becoming imbedded in it momentarily. Giving Delta just enough time to assess the state of his body.

Pain came screaming up his side quickly and Delta grit his teeth to keep from screaming yet again. But his fingers twitched and he could still move his wrist and arm slightly. Dislocated perhaps? It would be better than a break, but he could not snap it back into place himself. Not right now when his focus had to stay on where the Demo's attacks where coming from.

He needed more space between them. The theatre provided little, but if he were to go into the backstage area again he'd be trapped in the corridor with this beast and if it charged him again with no room at all, he'd surely be crushed under the force of it.

Terrified and with few options, Delta opted to dash in the opposite direction of the Demo. Taking his eyes off it for even a moment was frightening but he needed to find some sort of footing if he was going to survive this.

That thing was going to kill him at this rate and Delta knew he couldn't call out for anyone. Perhaps if Atlas heard him screaming he'd come to find him, but if the other man did that then he'd no doubt be killed by the Demo as well and for as scared as he was, Delta wouldn't risk it.

He had to deal with the monster himself.

Monster.

Delta's mind halted briefly. Thinking of enemies in terms of mindless creatures made the job easier, but that was a big daddy behind him. Not all that different to himself. It was another person that had been strapped down as he had, experimented on, torn away from whatever humanity they'd once have.

It was just someone like him. Someone like him that was not lucky enough to remember themselves and have a second chance.

Who ever was inside that metal tomb now - they weren't coming back.

Delta skid to a halt, turning his attention on a dime from defence to offence. He'd get no where by fleeing from this thing and even if he out ran it, then the person that was stuck inside of there would continue to live on in that semi-conscious hell that Delta had once known.

It became a matter of mercy rather than one of necessity. He needed to get through the Demo Daddy's hard outer shell to reach the person inside and put a stop to this.

Boot slammed down onto the ground, Delta found his footing again. He only needed to calm down and think through the pain for a moment.

 _Plasmids didn't_ _quite_ _take with him_ , Alex's words rung in his head and on command Delta summoned up what he held and the opponent lacked.

As the Demo Daddy jerked it's shield free, tearing away with it a large chunk of the wall, Delta summoned up a decoy. Placing it off to the opposite side of the theatre, to give him some space and time. Fortunately the other big daddy's sight seemed more limited than his own, movements slower and heavier it turned to face the fake while Delta was able to gather himself back up.

Armour too thick to pierce with a bullet. A helmet that could be removed, armed to the nines with a shield strapped to its arm that his harpoons bounced right off. The odds were not in Delta's favour, not without careful use of his EVE.

Most of which had been used just getting to this point. Keeping the decoy solid and moving was using up even more but Delta desperately needed the time. As the Demo followed after the EVE conjured figure, Delta tried to think of what trick he might have up his sleeve for this.

There was one that he hesitated on.

ADAM was an incredible thing and there was plenty he could do that normal men just couldn't, but this did not mean he was without limitations on what his body to handle. What plasmids he could use without harm to himself. If he were not careful there were certain plasmids that could take him down with an opponent.

Which was exactly why he had only used Gravity Well once before.

Aching horribly, Delta forced his arm up slightly, feeling the pressure of the plasmid growing between his fingers slowly. The force mounting second by second as the Demo seemed to realise something was amiss with the target it had followed. Bullets passing through its body.

Delta needed more time.

Slowly the massive form of the Demo's body turned slightly, seeking him out and seeing through the facade. It took awhile for the Demo to figure out where he was and with its limited sight took even longer to properly locate him.

A few more precious seconds.

The pressure was building more, Deltas fingers twitched and fought against the strain of the plasmid as it pulled at him. Trying to draw all matter into its centre, including its wielder. Delta needed to stand more firmly, legs parted and locked as he held his drill beneath his wounded arm. Keeping it steady and up as bit by bit the plasmid grew. A dark mass between his fingers, beginning to leak between them and slip out across the empty space before him. Black tendrils seeking out more to draw into it.

The working theory was that even the Demo's hard protective casing wouldn't be able to resist the force inside of the plasmid. If it could crush or crack even a little bit of it's armour then Delta could break the rest of it away.

It was the best hope he had.

It sucked down more and more EVE, taking all it could to sustain itself and grow, leaving Delta weaker by the second and still trying to drag him inside. But he needed to make it larger. It was his best shot of getting anywhere, it was a risk he had to take or he'd be good as dead against this larger opponent.

Finally having located him in earnest the Demo tensed once again. If it was out of bullets or simply saw this as a more effective means of attacking Delta, he couldn't tell. But it was once again preparing to charge.

Just a little more. Delta had to hold his ground until the last possible moment. To give himself the best chance of success and although his bones screamed in protest and the plasmid grew ever stronger, he held firm.

Finally the Demo charged and Delta, in the same moment, released the Gravity Well.

The plasmid shot beyond his fingers, dragging with it his weight for a moment so Delta had to pull himself back. As it flew through the air, collecting bits of debris and fallen bullet shells, the Demo nearly struck it head on. Instead it barely missed the big daddy and planted itself at the Demo's heels, pulling its charge to a stuttering halt. As if confused the Demo attempted to step away only to find the drag of the plasmid fighting against it, pulling it towards its centre.

Briefly a sense of hope flared up inside of Delta as the Demo wavered, struggling to find its footing and not fall back into the pull of the well. That hope diminished slightly as it surged forward, placing all its weight downwards, fighting against the pressure and while it was dragged a few inches back, it didn't fall.

Going forward meant getting closer to the centre of the well and increasing the chances that he'd be pulled in as well, but Delta had no choice.

This time he was the one charging forward. Kicking off the ground and rushing towards both the big daddy and the active plasmid. The Demo was forced to raise it's shield to protect itself from the strike of his drill.

Crashing into the other large body, Delta's drill came screaming into life, jammed against its shield and causing it to dent, the most damage he'd delt to the Demo thus far.

Braced against the brunt of the Demo Daddy's riot shield, Delta was able to keep himself from being sucked in to the plasmid though it's drag pulled stronger on him every second, beginning to reach the peak of its life. Knowing he was running short on time, Delta put all his weight behind one final shove to throw the Demo back.

It's balance was lost and the Demo tipped back, falling towards the gravity well.

For a moment Delta thought that was it, he'd done it. Only to be taken off guard when the Demo reached out with one hand and snatched his wounded arm. He screamed in pain and panic as it pulled him along as well, both of them falling towards the black mass of the plasmid centre.

Fortunate for them both that it snapped shut just before either one of them fell too deeply into it. The ensuing outward explosion of all the force it had accumulated tossed both the Demo and Alpha series big daddies across the room. Delta had less weight and so despite being further away from the explosion he traveled the furthest, striking the wall opposite them both and crumpling to the ground.

His vision swam in and out of focus, disorientated and in pain, Delta lay there for a moment, unable to so much as lift his head, let alone get back up.

A small distance from himself the Demo was in much the same state. Thought unlike Delta it began to move again fairly soon after the initial impact.

Seeing the massive armoured big daddy slowly pull itself upright, Delta's heart sank.

He'd tried his best…

But there was always going to be a bigger bad in Rapture. He might have been a bit foolish to think he'd be the biggest of them.

A wave of fatigue washed over Delta as the Demo rose back to its full height, though he noted with some satisfaction that he'd been right. The gravity well had shattered parts of the Demo's armour, exposing the mutated skin beneath in places.

Funny, the body under all that armour looked so frail…

Unable to move, Delta had to watch as the Demo approached him. Each heavy step causing the ground to shake as it drew closer. Delta had been on death row for a while now, reaching Eleanor the only chance he had out of it, though even that had been a bit of a long shot.

To be honest, his greatest regrets surrounded others. He thought of his little girl, still needing him, somewhere in Rapture. Sinclair, Tenenbaum, the girls that all needed him to get them to the surface. And Atlas who most certainly could not look after himself while alone in Rapture.

It was one final effort to try and get up, just thinking of them forced Delta to at least try and get back to his feet, even if he wouldn't stand a chance.

That effort was cut short as the Demo's heavy boot landed on his chest plate, forcing Delta right back down with a painful thud. All he had to look at now in his dizzy vision was the Demo Daddy's helmet, knowing it could be removed but just never would be hurt a bit despite everything.

The guns hidden just beneath the Demo Daddy's shield lifted, pointing its fist in his direction to aim up a clean shot to the head. Ha...at least it had no sense of sadism. A quick kill. Delta could appreciate that.

What he could not appreciate was Alex's jeering voice coming to accompany his demise. "Looks like we have a new champion ladies and gents! Oh but what a show you put on for us, Delta! Should have expected as much from the famed Johnny Topside! And here's your reward."

Alex told him this was his reward with a long dead name and Delta truly wished he had some better parting words to hear.

Only, the gun never fired.

Instead the Demo Daddy seemed to recoil violently.

A sudden jerk upward, gun tearing away from the aim it had taken towards his head and then the rest of its body followed. Alex let out a shout of angered confusion as his supposed crowning achievement stumbled back from the downed Alpha Series.

The sound it let out was similar to Delta's pained roars, the unmistakable bellow of a big daddy in agony. The Demo tried reaching for it's head but didn't seem able to muster even that. Shaking its head violently as it stumbled back away from Delta hastily.

Alex shouted demands, told the Demo to finish it's job or be fired itself. Asked what it thought it was doing slacking on the job. All of it seemed to go right over the Demo's head, not a single command heeded as it screamed again.

Even as he lay there, in agony himself, Delta couldn't help but feel that the sound was so utterly miserable. He empathised, with that pain, he truly did.

Then, without explanation, the Demo tore out of the showroom. Delta was still laying there as it fled the battle it had rightfully won.

Leaving him with only Alex's bewildered security bot for company.

But it gave Delta time. Gave him a moment to breathe and try to get through the pain.

With what limited EVE he had left, Delta tried to focus his telekinesis, needing to truly focus all his attention on the action, just so he could push his shoulder back into place with another snap and groan of pain.

Left panting, ragged and beaten, Delta was trying to pick up his pieces, understand what had just happened. His vision tipped and turned unpleasantly when he looked up, seeking out some evidence of the Demo Daddy lurking nearby in some strange tactic to kill him.

But there was to sign of the other beast left in sight and Delta was left baffled. Alive, but baffled.

Alex had gotten over his own shock to be livid. "What a defective product! Though I do suppose there were still some kinks to work out…" He grumbled thoughtfully, the bot spinning above Delta's head as he slowly sat up, every little movement causing another wave of nausea and pain.

Noticing his movement, Alex's drone flew down close to his face for a moment, looking just livid. As livid as a flying bot of annoyance could at least.

"No. I made no error, my creations are perfect! This is  _your_  doing!" It accused though Delta hardly saw how he had anything to do with that. He'd been completely helpless and the Demo just...left.

Ran from him even.

Delta could make no sense of it, but he was relieved all the same.

A few more seconds passed of Alex mumbling to himself, cursing and theorising before seemingly stopping in the air. Silent and hovering in place. An idea occurring to it. "Ah...of course. The source material must be the cause of this."

Then Alex was back in his face again, tone having completely changed.

"Would you like to see something, Delta?" Alex's voice sneered, dripping with some vindictive glee. Revenge was his intent, Delta would assume. "Something of a little 'welcome home' gift. You must be feeling terribly alone out here and rather pitiful after the beating you just took. So how's about a little pick me up?"

Alex never really sought consent, not that Delta could have given or refused it either way. He'd have no choice but to see what Alex put before him.

Left there alone on the theatre stage, he did feel rather isolated. Something about this whole thing tugging at a memory in him. It would be an unpleasant memory if he were to retrieve it and so Delta left it be.

However, Alex only provided him with another.

What he was given was a show not unlike the one Stanley Poole had once presented to him. Lights all but shutting off, a projection shot up before him and the sinking sense of dread that told Delta he didn't want to know what it was Alex had.

He expected to see himself. Young and still human, as he had in Dionysus Park. Instead what he saw was Alex from a different life. When he was the young and human one.

The doctor stood in front of the camera lens, seemingly adjusting it to his preferences.

The moment he spoke Delta got the idea as to what this would be. A record of their crimes.

"I have started the recording for today's procedure. I would like to allow you a few moments to organise your thoughts. Prays and the like." Gilbert's voice droned into existence as the doctor fiddled with the camera. It faced the medical table, turned upright with a man strapped to its surface with too many binds to count.

Ragged, near skeletal and littered with wounds that must have been self inflicted and medical - Walter looked unlike the man he'd once been.

But as he raised his head the slight distance he could, tangled, filthy hair falling over his face and despite the poor quality of the recording, Delta could still make out the sharpness of his eyes. Not lost to insanity or pain just yet.

Muddled as his memory was, Delta was struck with a sense of responsibility. Knowing that this had to have been his fault. Walter, a man who he could only barely recall as a friend, this had become his fate as well?

Because Johnny had found Rapture and Walter had found it in him to befriend the outsider.

This was a record of not only Alexander Gilbert's crimes - but also his own.

For that reason, Delta couldn't look away.

 

…  
...

 

"How very  _kind_  of you." Walter rasped, not an ounce of gratitude in his voice.

Gilbert seemed to pause on him for a moment. Something passing through his mind that ran just shy of compassion. But his work remained a top priority and the life of an erased man wouldn't sway him among so many other names blotted out by Ryan.

"I suggest you use the remainder of your time wisely." Gilbert told him, tone even and lacking cruelty despite his callousness. There was no maliciousness in him, simply a lack of mercy.

Walter watched as the doctor left the room, perhaps to give him some sense of privacy even though every camera in the place was trained on him, offering no such reprieve.

In front of him the bulky recorder sat and Walter considered it idly for some time. Feeling dulled knowing that no matter what words he might leave in it, they'd no doubt be tossed aside. At best this was some final comfort, Walter did not believe they'd keep his voice in that box for long. Perhaps it was passed to each test subject. Their variation of a final meal in the form of some sense of self value before the loss of self came rushing up to greet them.

And yet, Walter felt the need to speak.

He'd painted for no one, written words for no one and if he spoke for no one besides his own ears now it might as well be something he felt worth hearing for himself.

But the words didn't flow freely to his mind and the artist was left to stare at what would serve as his final moments, unable to find the worth in anything he had to say for himself.

"Seems, I've run out of poetry." He mused with a dry smile. Unable to truly mourn that loss now everything was ending.

If there was no poetry left in him, perhaps a little honesty wouldn't go amiss.

"Looks like I've failed as a brother. I know that right now you'll be searching for me, Lewis and I pray you will never see me again. I won't really be myself anymore, better you not see my walking corpse. My only solace is thinking...that just maybe in protecting one of those children as a beast, perhaps one day they'll be themselves again when I cannot. You'd have liked that, Lewis."

His brother was the first on his mind. The last of his family. The one that had so eagerly brought them to Rapture to begin with. He should have argued with him the day Ryan's invitation arrived. Should have fought for the surface even once. He'd never fancied being under the waves, but Lewis would have gone alone had he refused.

Knowing that now, Walter couldn't help but be relieved he had come down here. At least Lewis hadn't been alone in this underwater grave.

Though, he would be now.

There were not many things left on Walter's mind. Nothing of great importance anyway. His works? They'd decay in time, the words fading and paint chipped. They were never made to last. Just a moment of beauty and colour to admire.

Well. There was one thing left. Though Walter doubted that his position was any better than his friend's.

"Johnny… you little idiot. Now we both die like this." Walter laughed, only to cough and hack horribly a moment later. Body shaking in his restraints.

He did so hope that he didn't have enough sanity left to feel when they started grafting his body to those metal abominations.

Sighing after his coughing fit, Walter attempted to look towards the ceiling but his worn body wouldn't even move that much. He doubted he would survive the procedure himself. They'd put so much ADAM into him but seemed to disregard his human needs for all else. Dying hadn't scared him in the past, though he'd be a liar to say that now the prospect didn't hold some weight to it. The waiting was what got him the most. That or the burning hatred that coiled away in his broken chest for the city that had fallen around them.

"Though...maybe not. You're strong, my boy...so very strong and so very,  _very_  good. I know you'll give them hell. I have to believe that." Walter murmured, thinking that if anyone would survive this, it would be Johnny. Stronger and kinder than he rightly should have been, but too naive for his own good. Walter admired that as much as it had concerned him.

He'd been right to fear for Johnny.

Now here they were.

After a moment, Walter decided he wanted to leave on good terms in a sense. Even if it was all for himself and Johnny never heard these final sentiments.

"When you arrived...I don't think I'd ever met someone so incredibly unlike myself. You were unbearably irritating to be honest. So loud and open hearted. You truly put me to shame. I valued that in you, and I wished every day you'd leave this city before it swallowed you up. It breaks my heart to know what we've done to you. To people like you."

Sighing softly, Walter lamented. "From the bottom of my heart, I wish we'd never met. At least you'd have been spared this."

Walter had thought himself too exhausted to muster up any emotion beside hatred. For himself, for Rapture, for mortal men. But apparently there was strength enough left in him to mourn. To feel such a deep, guttural sort of grief that for a moment there was a sting to his eyes that he couldn't force away with pride alone.

And with so little time left, Walter allowed for a bit more honesty.

"But just for a moment, it was nice to feel like the sun had come to Rapture for the first time. I had almost forgotten what warmth felt like until you reminded me."

Pausing, Walter relayed his words to himself and chuckled wearily at his own nonsense. The soft sound of laughter thick as his throat tightened up.

He managed to laugh even as he heard the tell-tale thunk and squeal of the doors being unlocked.

"Huh...look at that…" Walter mused. "...seems like I had a little poetry left in me for you." The doors slid open and the audio diary began to run short and Walter closed his eyes, not needing to focus on the world in front of him when the one behind his eyes was a sun bathed one.

"I'll see you on the other side, Johnny...but please, take your time."

Walter had run out of his own.

…

…

The footage ran out as Gilbert returned to the room and turned it off. Taking with him the last image he'd likely ever see of his old friend. Leaving with him the memory of final words he didn't know had been left for him.

Now sitting there, understanding washing over him, sickly and unwelcome. Knowing now who the unknown person in the Demo's shell must have been. Still frail under the armour. Still somewhere in there.

Delta remembered. The smell of drying paint, musty books and Walter's patient voice.

And he screamed.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And we're back to the trash man.

When Tenenbaum said 'untrustworthy', Atlas hadn't quite translated that to meaning a fucking  _deathtrap_.

The moment he took his foot off the final step and onto the second floor landing, it gave a terrible wailing creak and grind that he was sure Delta must have heard beneath him. Cringing, Atlas looked out over the floor and took note of where the largest gaps were. A few bodies scattered around made the remaining safe areas look all the more unappealing.

Being careful meant going a bit slower than he'd have liked, but Atlas didn't rush himself as he ventured out further onto the floor. Gun in hand and ADAM prickling under his fingertips.

A comforting presence, but not one he'd like to fall back on if it could be helped.

Especially when he caught the distant skittering of a spider splicer somewhere.

Those lucky bastards didn't need to worry about a rickety floor when they could just as well cling to the walls and ceiling.

And yet, despite this particular advantage, they were still dumb as a sack of bricks. As such, Atlas easily heard them before the splicer got a chance to close in on him. His steady steps had made noise, but the feverish scuttling of a spider splicer might as well have been deafening against the quiet backdrop of Rapture's decay.

The scrape of metal against the floor registered in Atlas's head and a moment later he was zeroing in on the sound. Finding the splicer still a good distance from him, coiled up tight with a hook in hand, no doubt intending to bury it in his head. Atlas beat him to that punch with a bullet.

His aim was not wholly untrue to him but neither was it a perfect strike. Atlas tutted through his teeth as the bullet found a mark on the splicer's chest just beneath its shoulder. Puncturing a lung at best. But as far as splicers were concerned, very few injuries were worth stopping for until it became fatal.

"Taking up all my fucking bullets." Atlas cursed and aimed another just as the bleeding beast took its own aim, clumsy and hasty after being shot itself, and hurled the hook his way.

Easy as it was to move out of the path of the weapons trajectory, it caused Atlas to backstep and land on one of those less than secure patches of ground. It gave a shudder under him and Atlas leapt forward again just in time to see another chunk of the floor give away. Oh for fuck's sake.

By the time he'd looked up at the splicer again he saw it attempting to retreat some. Out of hooks and still bleeding. The damnable thing was still chattering away. "Get back here!" Atlas snarled and raced after it.

Tenenbaum said clear the space and by god he was inclined to do just that.

It was not the most elegant chase in the world, the spider splicer remained more dextris than himself and light enough to avoid any major weak spots in the floor's construction. Atlas had to slow to avoid these traps himself. It felt a lot like being lead around by a child he couldn't quite catch up to.

He was also positive that Delta would not be having half as much grief as he currently was. Would be mighty useful if he had a end all conflict drill on his side. He didn't have that, but he did have the plasmid that sat under his skin just  _begging_  to be let loose.

Why not? Sure, ADAM was dangerous and using it seemed to...twist his mental state just a bit, but Tenenbaum seemed to think it was safe enough.

Fuck it.

Incinerate came roaring to life in his palm and with it the familiar rush of adrenaline that ADAM always brought with it and a sense of power that sat just a tad shy of being addictive.

Atlas planted his boots on the ground and took aim. This time when his attack struck the splicer it lit up in vibrant reds and yellows with a shriek. That stopped its running right fast. Atlas didn't even need to add another bullet to the situation as the splicer seemed to crumble under the combined damage of the flame and previous injury. Collapsing and falling as dead weight through another gap in the floor.

Atlas could only hope that if Delta happened to be walking underneath, that the splicer's body would not still be on fire if it struck him on the way down. Though, admittedly, that would at least be rather entertaining.

Straightening back up, Atlas killed the flame in his palm and glanced around. Atlas took notice of a little sister's vent ahead of him back towards the stairs. Thankfully it remained empty of one of the children, but he did notice something else. Sitting by its side was an audio diary. Atlas frowned as he approached both the vent and diary. Looking at the little thing with some uncertainty.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd bothered to listen to one really. A little caught up in running for his life and genuinely lacking any interest in hearing dead men's voices. Not that he was given much of a choice with the ghosts on his mind.

But there was something disconcerting about seeing one left by a vent.

Something that was reserved for the little sister's safety, it seemed wrong to set someone's memories down next to it when, more likely than not, they'd become someone willing to tear those girls apart for their ADAM.

So Atlas picked it up with the intention of tossing it over the railing and somewhere down to the first floor. Hopefully this too would not hit Delta should he be lingering.

Except when his fingers closed around the handle, he noticed a name plastered along its side. Written in crayon and stuck on with little more than tape, Eleanor Lamb's name was scrawled.

Atlas looked back at the little sisters vent and his mind did its job for a nice change of pace. Made connections.

He recalled Beatrice, while still very much influenced by the sea slug in her gut, telling him about 'Big Sister Eleanor's' desire to leave a gift with the remains of Valery. That had been why Beatrice was there at the same time as himself, to leave flowers.

Sent by Eleanor.

It stood to reason that this too would have been delivered by a little sister through these vents. Were the girls leaving Eleanor's recordings around the city? What for?

Atlas did not immediately know what to do now the device was in his hands. Listening to it seemed inappropriate somehow, but what else was he to do with an audio device? He started it with a click of the play button.

"Mother found a way to rehabilitate me psychologically, but she can't remove this...this thing inside my body."

Eleanor's voice sounded too old. Atlas did not for a moment doubt that the girl he heard through the recording was only a child, but he could hear how trauma had aged her in every word. So tired.

"I look in the mirror and I see a freak. I remember very little - just an artificial sense of peace and a compulsive hunger for ADAM."

Listening, Atlas knew this must be what all former little sisters experienced in part. Except, the girls he knew that had come back from that state of living death were no longer infested with the slug.

But Eleanor  _was_.

Lamb's efforts to rehabilitate her were not half as successful as Delta's methods. But perhaps, Atlas considered darkly, Lamb never really intended for them to be that successful in the first place.

Eleanor's voice concluded quietly with something just shy of compassion. "Doctor Alexander is trying to help me...adjust. He's responsible for part of my creation. But he wants to make amends."

Amends. Atlas thought about this with a faint scowl. There was so much blood on Alex's hands and now he was a raving lunatic that would probably want to make amends as soon as rip Eleanor's head from her shoulders. He wasn't feeling the same forgiveness that Eleanor's tone suggested she did.

How old was this recording? There was no way to know if this voice had been taken an hour before or years early. Atlas couldn't say how Eleanor might feel now but...to actually  _hear_  her...

To know the voice of the daughter he was helping Delta reach, it seemed to change something in Atlas. He couldn't put his finger on what it was, but it felt more real to him suddenly.

This Eleanor, made a person for the first time rather than some obscure objective they had to reach.

With that Atlas slid the recording into his bag, there was room enough for it with the painting left behind. Atlas found it somewhat amusing that once again he was collecting something sentimental for Delta. Maybe this one would make him happy as well, even if the content was a little grim. Everything in Rapture came with that baggage now days unfortunately, even the most wonderful things.

With the diary safely tucked away Atlas looked over his shoulder, seeing a hall down to his right that lead to another chamber. The name above the door read 'Marketing Department' and, well, Alex did seem the type to put emphasis on marketing, perhaps he'd stashed the signal relay there as well.

No sooner than he'd stepped away from the vent, towards the marketing department doors, did the demon bitch herself decide things had been far too void of her own voice for her liking.

When Doctor Sofia Lamb spoke up, voice carrying over the radio waves, Atlas cringed. Wishing her gone just as soon as she showed herself.

"You collect my daughter's voice as though it were a trinket." Lamb spoke icily to Atlas directly and he knew she'd likely been watching them every step of the way from the moment she first found him in the bathysphere.

Biding her time.

Perhaps it had been a sense of insult that prompted her to speak now, seeing Atlas take something that belonged to Eleanor.

"Aye." Atlas chimed back dryly. "And I imagine we're gonna come collect her in good time too." Antagonising the woman was likely not the safest nor more mature line of reasoning in the world, but Atlas needed a pick me up every now and then.

The silence that followed was positively glacial and a sneer curled on Atlas's face. Good. Let the bitch sweat. "You ain't got no right to be calling yourself a mother of all things." He continued, poking around for sore spots while airing his own distaste for her.

What he got for his troubles was a sermon he did not ask for.

"The Tyrant," Lamb began, tone biting as she no doubt read through her mental list of cliches and speeches. "looks upon the world, saying' ' _All of this is mine_ ,' and by force or guile, he makes it so. To the Tyrant, even the -"

"Oh my lord jesus almighty." Atlas breathed out a curse, talking over Lamb's incessant yapping. So incredibly exasperated. "Do all you wacko intellectual types wax poetic day in and out? Ryan was just as bad, but at least he made  _some_  sense here and there."

Stepping up to the doors that had more of those dozens upon dozens of seized notes plastered along its frame, Atlas stopped and took a knee. He'd made a habit of ensuring he had as many bullets in his pistol as was possible before entering any new area that he was heading blind into.

And as he opened his bag back up, Lamb spoke up again.

"As I recall." Lamb interjected calmly. Her voice a steady, icy stream that Atlas would have loved to just cut clean off. "You too had a particular way with your words. The work of a shark, this 'voice of the people' parade."

"Well ya recall wrong." Atlas replied dryly, picking through the items that Tenenbaum has sent him out with. "What I did was called 'inspiring speech'. Ya know, uplifting like, or something." The words were somewhat distracted as Atlas took stock of his bullets. More than enough for a change.

"Something like that." Lamb repeated, voice heavy with a lofty smugness that got under Atlas's every nerve. As though she were mocking him over something his pitiful mind failed to comprehend because she was ever so smart and he was just some working class chump.

"But I ask you, Atlas. What do you stand to gain from assisting Delta in this endeavour?"

"Ha!" Atlas let out a bark of laughter. "Maybe you're not actually all that bright, doc. Ain't that obvious? Because Delta means out of here and the whole city is sinking, if ya hadn't noticed that."

"Strange." Lamb hummed. Never once rising to Atlas's bait. "You were once so enthused on the idea of conquering Rapture. Now you would see her rest on the ocean's floor."

"Save it." Atlas bit out the correction before he could think better of it. "To  _save_  Rapture."

"Is that what you remember of the affair?" Lamb asked, amused. "The Tyrant has no family, no friends, no country; only slaves, chained in his wake. To his fellows he asks, 'of what use are you to me?' Those who love him are his subjects, for the Tyrant accepts only worship or fear."

Desire as he did to shut the woman's usual spiel up again, Atlas couldn't find the words. Her speech getting caught in his head. Carving out a place for itself inside, as if the words she spoke were truth and they belonged there. Even as Atlas violently rejected them. Wishing to expel every syllable from his head and forget it all together.

But once it was inside his mind, he couldn't seem to pry it back out.

"Make no mistake, Atlas. You  _are_  a tyrant."

Teeth grinding Atlas was only just able to keep from throwing his radio across the city's length. Sick of the woman's voice. Sick of the clenching in his chest and heat spreading to his fingers, begging to light up incinerate again when it had no purpose to be called upon.

He settled for turning it off.

Just for a moment. He knew it couldn't remain off in case he needed to yell for help. But just for a moment, he didn't want any other voices in his head. Just his own.

Trying to step away from the situation, Atlas rose back to his feet, adjusting his bag over his shoulders and focused on moving forward. Stepping up to the doors Atlas waited with his pistol raised for them to slide open for him.

When they pulled back and opened up the marketing department to him, Atlas only saw it for a split second before the whole scene was washed over and replaced with what he recognised as another memory out of place and time.

For the second time since entering Fontaine Futuristics, Atlas found the decay dropping away from his sight, washed clean with the shine of a ghostly memory of the beauty the place had once been. Briefly stopping him in place as he played witness to a scene long forgotten.

"How are you going to hawk these?" A familiar ghost asked and Atlas stopped in his tracks. Pistol lowering slightly till it fell off the ghost that was presented before him.

A far younger and less solid Sinclair sat to one side at the end of the long table situated in the centre of the department.

In his ghostly hand sat a glowing bottle that resembles what a plasmid bottle would one day come to be. Scrutinising it and turning the new product over in his hands. And between his translucent hold, the bottle flashed through every colour they had to name, merging and splitting in little rainbow bursts of light that the memory did not acknowledge.

"Not to say I'm uninterested, Fontaine. But people get a bit of the heebiejeebies about needles. Why'd you knock off the drinkables?"

And at the foot of the table, standing to look out the windows to the sea floor, Fontaine offered up a scoff and shrug. Cigar in hand the ghost glanced back towards his guest, the rainbow light show from the plasmid bottle bouncing off his profile.

"They were a massive drain on ADAM, limited supply you see. Leave selling the needles up to marketing." Fontaine told Sinclair flippantly, looking back towards Rapture's landscape as Sinclair mused over the new plasmid.

There was a distinct curiosity behind Sinclair's stare even in this colour sapped recreation of a moment long gone. That spark Atlas recognised well enough, Sinclair's cogs all turning as he made his own plans, thought about how to best utilise these new developments. On his young face, the expression felt entirely alien to Atlas now. Like looking back to a person he'd known in another life that no longer resembled the one he knew now. Age could do that.

"This won't come cheap." Sinclair warned Fontaine, but his tone was jovial. Knowing they'd be doing fine business and that Fontaine was prepared to pay his price.

At this, Fontaine laughed. "With you, Sinclair? No, it never does." He remarked, and Fontaine's voice held a note of laughter to it that was  _almost_  friendly. "I'll leave the gathering of those  _brave volunteers_  to you. I'm sure you'll be more than convincing."

"I'd reckon you'll have...five within the fortnight, and then we can talk about expansion." Sinclair agreed readily, turning the bottle over in his palms. "Heard Ryan has been coming down on these. Didn't think I'd see the day…" He pondered aloud and Fontaine's tone became tight in response.

"An agreement was reached between us. Don't think Ryan wanted to toss the word  _regulation_  around any, but no one wants people teleporting into their safes or to the surface neither."

"Could anyone get that far with this?" Sinclair asked, momentarily alarmed.

"Well, to know that, you'd have to supply me those volunteers."

"Can't say I don't pity the poor lads some. But no one is forcing their hands up." Sinclair sighed, leaning back in his seat, but showed no sign of hesitation in their arrangement. "But between this and the pit? Ah, might be doing them a mighty kindness."

Yet, undoubtedly, neither of them truly believed that. "I certainly won't be throwing my hand up in any hurry. No offence, Fontaine. But I'm inclined to agree with your leading lady on this one. Handing over this sort of power to these sorts of people - could get a touch nasty."

It was closest Sinclair ever came to putting some kind of moral reasoning before material gain but he fell just short of the mark and did not consider withdrawing from the deal he and Fontaine had struck. And Atlas watched, wishing that once, just once, Sinclair would have walked away. But this had already happened, it couldn't change now.

Fontaine didn't change course either. Snubbing out his cigar with a smirk.

"Never know, Sinclair. With plasmids like that? Well it might just save ya life."

"Not exactly out of my depth though, now am I, Fontaine?" Sinclair chuckled and set the bottle down on the table.

The bottle let out a little click when set down and as if it had given a snap of it's fingers, Sinclair's ghost vanished away in the sound. Leaving the chair vacant and the scene concluded.

And yet, the other ghost lingered a little longer.

Silent as if the moment in history had stalled and forgotten to take that remanent with it.

Then gradually Fontaine turned again. Enough that his shoulder was turned towards Atlas, frame bent slightly as he reached for the bottle that Sinclair's ghost had abandoned. Its colours flashing blue as Fontaine's hand lingered above its surface.

"Never hurts to have insurance, Augustus." He whispered.

Fontaine's fingers touched the bottle and then he too was wiped away. Leaving reality and the present day in place of a deal that had been struck and finished many years ago.

The little moment of history left Atlas all but winded. A slight tightness in his chest as air came harder to come by. Leaving his fingers and chest feeling cold. Every time his mind conjured up these ADAM induced nightmares, he felt thrown off balance and needed to take some time to find himself again.

This time, however, the memory was not without some physical grounding. As when Atlas looked up again, he saw the plasmid bottle was right where the ghosts had left it. Sat at the end of the long table set centre stage in the room.

Flashing through every colour in the rainbow, the bottle lay in wait.

Approaching slowly, Atlas's gaze flicked back and forth, scanning the room as he carefully ventured inside. The walls lit up with each colour the plasmid bottle threw out. A simple loop.

Blue, red, yellow, mix, rinse, repeat.

Green, purple, white, mix, rinse, repeat.

And so the pattern reset and played again.

Atlas went down the opposite side of the table from where the ghost of Sinclair had sat. The urge to speak into the radio welled up in him again.

To demand answers. Ask Sinclair what the fuck he'd been doing making deals with Fontaine about  _volunteers._

But he didn't want Sinclair to know. Didn't want anyone to know the things he was seeing.

They likely already thought him crazy, only just able to brush the majority of it away with ADAM as an excuse. But did everyone else feel this way? Did everyone else see the things he was seeing as the ADAM corrupted their bodies?

He felt they didn't. Maybe that was his ego whispering to him, but Atlas didn't think anything about this was particularly standard, even for a splicer in the making.

Tenenbaum would tell him if it were, wouldn't she?

Despite his desire to keep these things to himself, the need to speak to Sinclair continued to tear at Atlas.

Because he knew what he knew. Augustus was lying to him. Augustus was  _always_  lying about  _something_. But that was fine because they were both doing the same thing. It should have been fine, at least Atlas should have been okay knowing they were using one another as usual. It should have been fine by him.

But it wasn't.

As Atlas came to stand at the foot of the table, standing with his back to the looming windows that lead out to Rapture, he finally reached for his radio. Eyes fixed firmly on the plasmid bottle before him, Atlas tried not to think too hard when he brought the radio up and flicked it back on.

"Sinclair." He spoke quietly. Waiting a few seconds to be sure his voice had to have been heard somewhere. "Augustus, you there?"

He was about to be played for a sap and he fucking knew it but...he was tired.

So very tired and the ghosts had an unfamiliar itch burning under his nerves. Something had to be done about it or he'd lose his mind and he thought maybe Sinclair was the solution this time.

A sentiment he'd never say aloud for the obvious, unfortunate pun that it would result in. The thought at least got a smile out of him, disbelieving as it was.

Seconds trickled by and Atlas counted the colour loops the plasmid bottle went through.

Blue, red, yellow, mix, rinse, repeat.

Green, purple, white, mix, rinse, repeat.

He'd reached his third when finally on his end the radio crackled, signalling someone answering him but for a moment there was no verbal response. The other person thinking.

He almost expected it to be Tenenbaum when Sinclair finally did speak. "Hit a snag have we?" He asked, ready to dive back into the usual barely concealed hostility between them. "Come to ask your pal Sinclair for a hand?"

"Can it, Sinclair." Atlas sighed, dragging his hand across his face, wishing for a shower so very badly in the moment. He could taste rust and blood too easily. "Look just...you on your own there?"

Suspicion was expected and Sinclair sounded rightly distrustful when answering. "Why?"

"Because I don't want anyone thinking I want to be friends or some shit, alright?"

That seemed to catch Sinclair off guard and Atlas waited a beat or two before continuing when Sinclair didn't interject.

"So just stay quiet and listen for a moment." Atlas began, taking a deep breath and intently watching each colour the ADAM infused bottle gave off flashing before him.

Blue, red, yellow, mix, rinse, repeat.

Green, purple, white, mix, rinse, repeat.

Focusing on that so he did not over think the words that fell from his tongue.

"We both know you're not being upfront with us. We both know that, ain't no point in arguing it, waste of damn breath. I don't remember what it is you're not telling us. Fuck, might not ever remember at this rate and I was thinking...maybe it don't actually matter that much anymore."

From the other side of the radio, Atlas heard Sinclair moving. A slight rustle of fabric and then a sharp creak of a rusted chair being pulled forward. Listening, Atlas was able to perfectly imagine Sinclair taking a seat, eyebrows pulled together in that expression Sinclair only rarely let slip of genuine bewilderment.

"I can make guesses. Hell maybe I'll even get it right if I try hard enough but here's the kicker - I sorta believe you're in for the long haul here. When you say you want to get to Delta's kid-" The same child that Atlas had really only just started to recognise as a person himself. He was slow to this part it seemed. "-I believe ya. I know we've both said and done some shitty things and it'd be a stretch to say we're good people now but...shit."

Atlas was not good at this. He knew the sentiment he wanted to express but when he tried to put it into words, everything came pouring out. All his weaknesses out on display if Sinclair wanted to mock him for it.

That mockery didn't come, instead Sinclair sighed across the radio and Atlas was struck by just how tired he sounded as well. They shared in that too it seemed.

"Not saying you're right or I agree with you here, voice. But I appreciate you saying so." Atlas was startled by how amicable Sinclair seemed, even more so that he truly believed he meant it still.

That ghost of the man in his younger years didn't represent this Sinclair at all. They were all but different people.

"Look, Sinclair, I know that you blame me for a whole lot of this shit and I know I wasn't there when-"

"Nah."

Atlas stopped abruptly. The speech he was ready to tumble into stopped in its tracks by that simple dismissal. The blue of the bottles colour pattern flashed over his eyes once again.

In his silence Sinclair took over.

"Back at the theatre...I accused ya of a few things. Not mighty proud of that. Guilt makes a man do and say things he just rightfully shouldn't."

It was then that Atlas knew that Augustus was alone in this conversation. He never would have spoken like this otherwise. Raw, quiet,  _earnest_.

"Atlas…" Sinclair muttered his name like he didn't know what to do with it, words trailing off until he was quiet for a few seconds longer and then, quieter still, Sinclair breathed. "...we are  _both_  still here."

And yet here they are. Alive and above it all. The dead beneath their feet.

Briefly a quiet fell between them. Atlas knew with the gaps in his memory he was not able to fully appreciate the weight of everything Sinclair still remembered, but he understood enough. He'd been the one trailing after ghosts.

He wondered what Sinclair would say if he were to tell him what those ghosts thought of him still…

That they requested he be kept alive a little longer.

Atlas smiled faintly and though it was a miserable sort of joy born of loss, he welcomed it in now. This was the closest they could get to repentance.

The loop hit blue once more and Atlas closed his eyes with a soft sigh. Set at ease.

With that, some of the tension bled from his shoulders. "In the spirit of not dying down here and rendering all that meaningless… a truce?" He ventured finally, unable to keep the smile from his tone. He heard Sinclair scoff in return, amused but no less strained.

"Alright. A truce." Sinclair agreed and Atlas felt a weight easing from his shoulders.

A true. That was the best they could do for now. Until they were able to be honest with one another if they were ever to reach that point and if not - it'd be enough to just not betray one another. Atlas thought he could survive with that.

"Then let's get to the surface." Atlas announced, straightening up those his eyes stayed on the mesmerising flicker of colours before him.

Blue, red, yellow, mix, rinse, repeat.

"And once we're there, we'll be free to kill one another I imagine?" Sinclair replied, the banter an easy fall back.

Green, purple, white, mix, rinse, repeat.

"You'd lose, Augustus, you know that." Atlas barked back with a genuine smirk now. "When's the last time you so much as went for a  _jog?"_

Blue, red, blue, mix, rinse, repeat.

Appearing affronted but likely not the least bit actually hurt, Sinclair feigned insult. "Where would you have me practice cardio in a train?"

Green, blue, white, mix, rinse, repeat.

"If you stepped outside the Splicers would give you incentive." Atlas was speaking but he was not paying attention. Eyes on the bottle. The colours flashing still. Did they shift faster now?

Blue, red, blue, mix, rinse, repeat.

Sinclair said something but Atlas didn't really hear him, not paying attention.

Green, blue, blue, mix, rinse, repeat.

The colours that looped before his eyes now felt almost overwhelming. The colours were going too quick.

Blue. Blue, blue, restart, repeat.

Sinclair called. Atlas wasn't paying attention.

_Blue, blue, blue-_

Atlas reached out and grab hold of the bottle in a sudden snap.

The rest of the world vanished. There was nothing but blue.

Atlas was falling through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was actually cut in the middle. Next chapter will be out in at least 2-3 days.  
> So...soon.  
> I promised.


	29. Chapter 29

The world around Atlas flashed violently.

There was no sense of up, nor down, and every time Atlas thought he understood where he might be or what was happening, the world would twist again. Throwing him like a rag-doll through a space he couldn't comprehend.

Something like wind roared in his ears. Not so much caused by air rushing past his ears, but as though there were a great building pressure that mounted around him. Heavier and heavier, looking for a breaking point.

Once found, Atlas felt his body jerk. Being pulled back with a violent force as he was thrown yet again.

Not knowing where he was, not knowing what was going on, Atlas tried to open his eyes but there was only that blue. Everywhere. Like he had stepped into one of those memories that plagued him and had been swallowed up by it. Rendered no more real or present than those ghosts had been.

And in the colour and screaming in his ears, there were moments.

Little scenes snatched from time that he knew would be another memory if only he could focus on any one for long enough to let it play out in full. If those memories were his or Rapture's, it was impossible to say. But snippets of them reached him all the same and once again he became a voyeur to time.

His back struck a solid surface, the ground. Prying his eyes open again Atlas found himself in a dimly lit, smoke hazed room. Somewhere homely, orange lights inside that did not match the neon hues Rapture lit up with beyond this private room's doors. It was a familiar place to him, but Atlas couldn't remember when he'd ever been here.

In this private room, he saw Fontaine and another man. The later was impressive in size and awkwardly smiling with the former tyrant as he said something Atlas couldn't hear.

Both had a glass in hand and when Fontaine laughed, the brute by his side laughed as well with no hint of fear. Laughing because he was amused, not because he was terrified of what a powerful man like Fontaine might do.

Comfortable. Safe. Not afraid of Fontaine in the slightest. Maybe it was because he was built like a big daddy himself or perhaps it was because, under that coarse shell, Atlas knew undoubtedly that man was soft like anyone else. And in that softness there was affection for the smaller, more vicious man.

Someone close to Fontaine…?

Before the thought could settle, the memory was ripped away from him along with the location as a whole. His body dragged back into the mess of black and blue as he was thrown again.

This time, Atlas knew what was happening. Sinclair and Fontaine's discussion on plasmids coming to mind.

He'd grabbed the bottle that they'd been discussing and while he had no idea how  _this_  was the reaction to that, Atlas did not doubt that the plasmid was teleport and the cause of this. That plasmid inside that flashing bottle unstable, at a guess.

Teleportation. It took him to different places and his fractured mind did the rest, attaching memories to each one as he landed but they all went too fast to fully catch. Leaving him reeling.

Now as to make it  _stop_  he didn't have the foggiest and the ADAM made nightmare tossed him around like he weighed nothing, blasting him right into another location.

Rather than controlling a plasmid himself, it threw him around like a rag doll and all Atlas could do was hope that when it stopped for a moment he would be able to take control of the situation again.

It was his shoulder that struck this time. It hurt no less.

Atlas vaguely recognised it as Arcadia, the thing he struck a tree and up above he could hear the crackle and pop of fireworks. In the tea garden, two women enjoyed the music at new years. A private moment between the two, hand in hand and dancing together.

It was nothing he had any right to witness but still he caught a gentle whisper shared between them under the sweet music of Arcadia at new years,  _"Don't tell a soul."_

And Atlas was taken away again.

Tossed back to the ground, he saw an artist's study. A home that was probably an apartment in the upscale parts of Rapture. Not Mercury suits by any stretch, but it wasn't the slums either. It was lived in, warm.

Among the musty books a young lad, with his back to Atlas, was chattering away to another man who held a paintbrush in one hand with the other planted on his hip, an enduring smile for the avid talker.

Dazedly, Atlas thought he recognised the young man's voice and instinctively tried to reach out for him. Only for the unstable teleportation to steal him away from a moment a third time.

Thrown again. A wall this time.

Before he'd even had a chance to stop his vision from spinning, Atlas recognised Sinclair's fleeting laughter.

Saw only a glimpse of him with a women and man in his company. Jaclyn he knew, the other he struggled to recall. That sense of knowing nagged at him and before he could dwell on it, he was pulled away again. Given less time than the last. Each new location was given to him for a shorter time.

Again and again.

Thrown down in a new place, dragged away just as quickly. Names flashing through his head fasted than the memories, both his and others, could settle.

Sinclair, Tenenbaum, Ryan, Reggie, Jaclyn, Edmund, Johnny, Walter, Charlotte-

Faster and faster, he couldn't catch enough of any single memory. He was pulled and tossed, beaten black and blue, but unable to garner any new information. Just the need to make it stop, stop,  _stop!_

And it did.

Sharply, suddenly. It halted.

Left where it dropped him, Atlas lay prone and panting on the ground. Disoriented, Atlas struggled to rise, body too weak and laden to go anywhere at first. But the memory of times long lost went on around him not stopping to let him catch his breath.

This time the voices he heard were both familiar and came through crystal clear to him.

"You push too much!" A sharp woman's voice registered in his ears. Tenenbaum, younger. "Expect too much from such a small creature." She was angry. That he was used to but Atlas couldn't move to see who she was angry at. Could only just make out her form across the room from him.

"You're the miracle worker here, doc. So you better start working some damn miracles." Fontaine's voice cut in, just as biting at Tenenbaum's. Letting him know the source of Tenenbaum's anger. "That kid is going to be on that sub out of here by the end of the damn week or you can kiss your entire set up here goodbye!"

"Why do you demand these limits?" Tenenbaum asked, exasperated and cornered. Looking for some rationality from a totally unreasonable source. "The boy grows at an acceptable rate, stable, reliable, why rush-"

"Do I fucking pay you to ask questions?" Fontaine snapped back and even where he was left prone on the ground, Atlas was fairly sure he could see how Tenenbaum fought down the desire to say that  _yes,_ part of her job was to ask questions. But smartly kept those remarks to herself.

"One week." Fontaine reiterated darkly. "If you can't do it, then I get someone that can."

The conversation was over just like that and as Fontaine's ghost stalked away from Tenenbaum's, leaving hers to fade away, it remained solid. Walking right past Atlas and vanishing from view, but not before Atlas heard him snarl.

"Can't push this appointment back any further...fuck…. _fuck."_

The edge to Fontaine's words was not one of anger and yet Atlas wasn't sure if he could apply the word 'fear' to the man either.

This time when he was pulled away, Atlas was a bit more prepared for it.

His weight was thrown into that blue space again but he recognised it better now. It did not feel unlike that darkness he first awoke in before the Vita-Chamber dumped him back out. The biggest differences was just that there was more in here. The roaring in his head, the flashes of light, the confusion - but the weightlessness was the same and slowly Atlas found some form of footing in there.

Enough that when it spat him out again, he did not strike the ground but instead landed on his feet. With an unbalanced, inelegant stumble, but on his feet none the less. The ground solid beneath his feet and Atlas let out a haggard breath of relief before looking up to see where the plasmid had brought him now.

He had never seen this place before… and it was real.

It was  _now._

Atlas stood in a child's room. At least that's what he believed it to be.

At his back was the familiar landscape of Rapture, falling apart and leaking at the seams, just as he knew it, through shields of glass. But inwards, there was a room that seemed to be designed for a single child. Children's building blocks left scattered around, soft and safe carpet, toys, drawings on the walls.

A little girl's room...

And there. At the centre was the girl herself. Asleep and alone, she curled up tight and it looked to him, as though the cold had nothing to do with her shivering.

Atlas stared and he barely even had to look at the height chart etched into the doorframe with her name upon it, to know that this was Eleanor.

Delta's little girl was here. Alive.

However, when Atlas attempted to step towards her, the blue leapt back up around him again and he was once again pulled away. This time he tried harder to fight it and go back, but he was not in control here. Not yet.

Flung backwards Atlas felt the air get punched from his lungs again and what small balance he'd found previous was lost all over again. Violently this time he was hurled back and striking the ground twice before his back hit a wall and he was left there to gasp and heave, seeking out his footing again.

No memories this time.

Confused, Atlas looked up slowly. His body ached but his attention stayed focused on the memory he expected to find. Every other location struck him with something and he expected this to be no different. Atlas sought out the memory he hadn't yet heard.

Instead what he saw - was the plasmid.

The bottle sat on a stone pedestal, it was lit by a single light. The  _only_  light.

Everything else was dark. Atlas himself stood just beyond the point of visibility, staring in at the small illuminated space. A chill met his spine and Atlas was hit with the urge to not look behind him. To keep his eyes on the plasmid and nowhere else. Like monsters might lurk in the dark corners he couldn't see through.

Around the pedestal, there were posed statues. All looking to the plasmid. Taking photos, fawning over it, but never moving. The sight of them unsettled Atlas. Expecting any moment one might  _twitch,_  and give itself away as alive.

Cohen made statues out of people. Everyone that knew anything of substance about Cohen knew that. So to think that these might have once been people - it was no great comfort to Atlas.

Very slowly Atlas pushed himself forward, gasping and momentarily staggering as the nausea from each tumble set in when he finally tried moving himself. But he stayed firmly in this place. No more being dragged or thrown.

Given time to breathe and now the plasmid was stationary. Once again lying in wait, Atlas was free to gather his wits before approaching.

In the dark he heard each footstep. The water came up to his ankle, and every splash sounded deafening in this silence. It felt disconnected from the rest of the world. Like nothing else could reach this place.

It was eerie and Atlas felt his skin crawl every second her was here, but he knew that he needed to grab that plasmid again. Afraid that if he lingered too long it might flash out of existence and leave him here in this place to wither away with the statues.

But as he stepped into the light, past the posed photographers and between the presenters that proudly delighted over the plasmid, Atlas could not help but hesitate.

His outstretched fingers flinching back just inches from the bottle he'd tried to collect.

Just touching this thing had nearly torn him right out of reality the first time. Just when he thought perhaps he had some sense of grounding, it was ripped away again by some fucking plasmid that left his dazed and off balance.

He felt lost. Less like himself. Atlas didn't want to play these game anymore. He wanted to be himself again. To no longer wonder about who he was doing or why he thought the things he did.

"Home." He whispered sharply. "Back home and then that's it."

The words were meant for himself, but when he touched the bottle's surface again, the message seemed to have been adopted by the plasmid as well.

This time when the blue light rushed over him, Atlas didn't fall.

He stood still, not needing to shift an inch as the world warped around him and left him untouched. It was as though he'd gone nowhere at all at first and then, through the blue haze, he could see...the surface.

The blue he was seeing was the  _sky_.

Unable to breathe nor look away, Atlas could only stare through the image. There was no sunlight on his skin, no sound of birds or cool breeze - but he could  _see_  the sky.

And beneath that sky…

"Kid?"

Atlas swore he saw Jack there.

Standing out on the grass, not looking at him but still in that ridiculous sweater that he'd grown into. Atlas would know him anywhere no matter how long it had been or how he might have changed.

He knew his kid no matter where they were.

Atlas tried to reach out with the hand that didn't hold the teleport plasmid bottle, but it was all for naught. Just as quickly as the image of the surface was given to him it was snatched away again.

Violent once more, the air was stolen from Atlas and he hit the ground for one final time. Hard and sharp, he struck the ground and let out a grunt of pain followed by some pathetic wheezing attempts to get air back into his bruised lungs.

Confusion forgotten, Atlas became angry.

The teleport plasmid was still in his hand. Glowing a steady blue now. As though it had never been flashing sporadically through all the colours Atlas could name, almost innocently so, and Atlas became infuriated by the sight of it. Throwing the bottle across the room before thinking better of it.

"Home!" He screamed after it as the bottle hit the ground with a dull thunk and, mercifully, did not shatter. "I said home you useless piece of shit! Why did you drop me back here? Back in this fucking place!"

Rolling sluggishly to a halt the plasmid remained inactive. Glowing away like any other plasmid would. Causing no problems, vanishing nowhere. Having gotten it out of its system he supposed.

Atlas needed a few seconds to just breathe. Fingers reaching up to fist in his hair as he curled in on himself, biting down the urge to scream. There was only so much one man could be expected to endure, wasn't there? He was reaching his wits end.

For a moment he'd been so sure he saw Jack. The surface. But maybe he was truly just insane and that entire thing had been nothing more than an illusion.

But...no. That couldn't be right. He had certainly not imagined being chucked through time and space by that teleport plasmid, he had the aching bones and blooming bruises to prove as such.

Slowly Atlas uncurled his fingers, noting the floor he was on was not the same as the marketing department. Sitting up he saw the plasmid had brought him somewhere new yet again, but he recognised this as still being a part of Fontaine Futuristics.

Looking up, Atlas found himself sitting squarely before the office of Frank Fontaine.

Kneeling there he looked up, shadow of Fontaine's trademark stuffed bear looming over him, feeling almost more lost than before. The world around him was quiet, the doors behind him closed and the rest of Rapture busy falling apart at its own pace while he sat there in shock.

Off to his right was a portrait. The Fontaine Family it was titled, but looking at it Atlas couldn't figure out who 'Fontaine' was in that image. Fontaine had no children of his own, nor a wife.

So who was he in that painting? The child?

Seemed overly sentimental for a man like that. If Fontaine had a family to begin with, he certainly didn't give a damn about them.

What did Frank Fontaine care about  _family_  anyway?

Gradually Atlas gathered himself up off the ground. Eyes lingering on the portrait of the family he didn't believe in before finally dropping to the plasmid he'd thrown. It didn't so much as brighten its glow when he picked it up now. Sitting in his palm, innocent and still.

This was the last stop, huh?

But no memory played. No ghosts showed. There was nothing here but Atlas and a big empty office.

Finally Atlas drew in a full breath. Eyes shut as he took a few seconds to try and put himself back together. He still had a job to do. Couldn't stop so suddenly. So he slipped the new plasmid into his bag, vowing he wasn't going to use it, but unwilling to abandon something so significant for some other splicer to happen across.

Though he did wonder why no one else had snatched it before him. It certainly hadn't been hidden. Maybe no one else had survived the trip through Rapture it had dragged him into. Fair enough.

Without meaning to, the first thing Atlas did was approach that portrait that so irked him. He'd barely finished in his approach when he caught sight of something that lifted his mood somewhat. A nice, momentary distraction.

"The signal relay!"

Atlas was filled with delight as he laid eyes on the device. Finally some good news.

But even as he grinned and approached the relay, those memories he'd seen kept pulling at his thoughts. Weighing him down bit by bit.

Those ghosts still danced in his head, laughter he knew, people he'd forgotten and Fontaine's snarled orders, it all kept looping. Unable to be processed because Atlas simply wouldn't allow himself to do so. Scared of what might happen if he slowed down long enough to think about it all.

So he took the signal relay into his hands and with one flare of incinerate fried it between his palms with a vindictive sneer.

Then he waited.

A breath taken as he waited for Alex to appear and say something about what he'd done. To kick up a fuss, bitch and moan - improve Atlas's mood a bit more with a drop in Alex's own.

But nothing. Atlas waited a little longer but no annoying little bot came bustling in and no voice made its appearance over the radio. Alex made no show at all and Atlas's skin crawled a bit. Wondering where he could possibly be.

What would distract Alex from something like this?

Finally, Atlas sighed.

His smoking hands dropped away from the busted device and he was left standing in this massive, somewhat pointlessly extravagant office. Alone again.

"Maybe I should check in." Atlas muttered to himself, reaching for his radio.

He had been talking to Sinclair just moments ago hadn't he? How had that conversation ended? He'd heard Sinclair calling his name, hadn't he?

"Sinclair? Hey, I got a signal relay down. Any ideas on where that last one might be?"

Static.

He got nothing in return but static.

Frowning, Atlas stepped away from both portrait and destroyed device. Moving back into the shadow of the stuffed bear while his eyes stayed on the radio before him.

"Ah...Sinclair, you there?" Had they not  _just_  made a truce?

More static.

A cold dread came creeping down Atlas's spine as he walked to the other side of the room and, oh lord have mercy, there was a whole array of drinks to choose from. There was no shame to be felt when Atlas went straight over to them, picking through the bottles and finding every single one of them to be a little gold send.

Say what you will about Fontaine but his taste in liquor was unmatched.

Although the boar head he'd mounted up on the wall above him was a little bit grotesque. Atlas wasn't surprised at all, given the man's habit of keeping stuffed bears around. Still, it could put a man off his drink having that thing just sitting above him.

Atlas plucked up a bottle of whisky while trying just again to get some sort of response.

"Tenenbaum, what about you? Anyone home?"

No answer. Just more static.

"Delta?" He tried instead. An edge creeping into his voice that he tried to deny hearing.

The bottle of scotch in his hand was not the distraction he desired. Atlas had not even been able to open it. Unable to pretend even to himself that he was not getting anxious.

"Anyone alive out there?" He tried just once more and once again, got nothing in return.

"Shit."

Cursing, Atlas put the bottle right back down, forgetting it in a heartbeat.

He had to find Delta. Maybe something went wrong with the radios. Wouldn't be shocked after he'd just been tossed through the entirety of Rapture as best he could tell.

It would be okay. He just had to get back to them.

Hurrying, Atlas made for the door. Thinking that if he really wanted to save time he could always take a short cut by falling through the patches of missing floor on the main second floor landing.

The door was was begin difficult to open. His hands were cold, making his fingers numb and heavy. Hard to use. The door shouldn't need opening at all, everything in Rapture was automated unless locked down by security. But Atlas had stopped to fumble with the key code. Trying to find the right numbers.

Why did he think it was a good idea to guess the right combination?

He'd never be able to get it, but he simply began to push the buttons without question-

But everything was okay. He'd hunt Delta down, likely be scolded for some nonsense or another and then they'd move on.

His arms were cold. His chest was cold. His head hurt. The radio was still making that awful racket. He couldn't seem to focus long enough to turn it off.

They'd welcome him back. It was okay.

They'd avoid splitting up again. Toss this broken radio. And that static would go away.

Everything would be fine after he got to Delta. Everything would go as planned from there. Eleanor, the surface, Jack. God, he'd actually get to see the kid again. He had so much he wanted to tell him, so much he never took the time to say when they were down here.

He'd done so much talking to Jack but never said anything that important to him. He wanted to change that. To actually hold a conversation this time.

They...had never really  _shared_  a conversation had they? Atlas didn't know why, couldn't remember as the chill inched up his throat and stilled his fingers on the numbers - but Jack had never spoken a word.

So how was it that Atlas knew his name?

It was then the static spoke to him.  _"Don't you get it?"_  It asked him and the chill became unbearable.  _"You're not actually alive."_

The static spoke to him.

The static….

No.

No, it didn't. Atlas had said that.

Through the static, over it. His lips moved and the sound came from him in a voice not his own.

Scared, Atlas stumbled back away from the door. His bag was dropped and forgotten along with the radio at his feet as he continued to back up. Trying to get away from the screeching static the radio produced.

But the voice got no quieter as it came from his own tongue.

"Starting to show your cracks huh, Fontaine- No, no stop it. God- fuck stop!"

And in his head it all mashed together, too much too fast.

" _Just don't be letting the con slip away from you, Frankie..."_ A memory murmured in concern and he wanted to cling to it. To ask it not to leave this time, he couldn't let go yet. His family.

" _Known you since you were knee high, boss. If that ain't family..."_ Another memory told him, steadying, comforting. Forgiving and final. Ready to let go before him. His friend.

" _My work is second to none and my silence affordable, sir. You will not regret coming to a real doctor."_ A final memory. When he was preparing to let go. His choice.

" _Make no mistake, Atlas. You are a tyrant."_ He hadn't been able to fight Lamb then, and he could not now as the words echoed in his head. His guilt.

 _"My Moira…Well she might be a pretty fantasy but there was a truth behind her. Amazing – you managed to kill her twice."_ His own voice snarled in his ears. Unable to let go just yet. His mistakes.

And the voice that was and, was also not, his own screamed, "Stop it! Just let me out!"

In answer a memory whispered.  _"Gotten a bit too lost in 'Fontaine', have you?"_

And his eyes opened again.

Sharp, sudden, his eyes snapped open and before him the office was unchanged but appeared to be wholly different to him now.

The picture to his right - a fabrication there'd initially been delight and mockery in. That stuffed monster at the head of the office - a trophy to lord over Ryan. It was  _familiar_  to him. A stage he knew how to perform in.

Home.

The memories screaming in his head no longer ached. The voices he heard had names and lies attached to them that he knew better than he knew himself.

Reggie, loyal to a fault and speaking to him the final time they'd ever seen each other. Jaclyn to him many days before with her own lie for a name that he'd come to so despise.

And his own lies speaking back to him in an accent he was never born with.

He had practiced that voice.

He'd practiced to play the part of a revolutionary, because he was  _not._

_Because Atlas wasn't real._

_And he never had been._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here we are.
> 
> ...
> 
>  
> 
> Also I have a Twitter so I’d you want to scream at me feel free to drop me a message.  
> @MaliceMacarons


	30. Chapter 30

He was himself once again.

It had been  _so long._  But finally, he was whole again.

He remembered his own name, the life he'd walked to this point. The lies and different masks he'd worn that brought him to the peak of Rapture.

The little fantasy his fractured mind had lived out as of late, no longer in play as everything slowly settled back into place.

He was Frank Fontaine - not Atlas.

Well, that was to say, he remained 'Fontaine' for as long as the name suited his needs and then he might just as well become someone else.

But he was always Frank. That at least he remembered.

Straightening up and looking over his grubby clothes Frank grimaced. How pathetic he'd been acting. Walking around getting all chummy with Tenenbaum of all people and those little fucking brats.

Christ he sure as shit made the most elaborate characters up didn't he?

Buying into his own con, what a joke.

Stepping past his old desk and over to the large window leading out into the icy depths Fontaine fell back into old habits.

It was a slow start, despite finally feeling a bit more solid and sure of himself, the mess of conflicting memories and thoughts in his head still needed to be sorted out. Pacing back and forth as his mind ran a mile a minute. Sorting through his returned memories, making new plans, new cons.

Now he remembered where he actually stood and reconciled that with the memories he'd made as 'Atlas', he found that he had a pretty good thing going on here in all honesty.

That giant oaf Delta would bend over backwards to keep him safe and it seemed the kraut was doing her best to buy into this Atlas act as well.

He could see no other reason as to why she hadn't immediately outed him, instead opting to let this fantasy play out a little longer. More experiments he'd wager. Hadn't learned her lesson on that front it seemed.

Yeah...yeah this would work out just nicely.

All he had to do was keep up that jolly ol' Atlas act. Look confused and angry as he walked through Rapture seeming as vacant and convinced of his own act as ever and they'd take him right to the surface.

Once he was back up there, he could pool his resources once again. They'd never want to return to Rapture, but  _he_  would. Once he was back down here with the genetic key in place he'd have run of the decrepit city and could rebuild his original plan.

Sure, it would be a bit of a fixer upper, but with a little bit of effort, he'd have trade and control set up in no time. Pest management would be far easier when he was at the throne again, but first he needed to get topside to set himself up and get the key to Rapture back in his possession. The prizes always went to the dog that got up after each kick.

And hell, while he was up there why not pay the kid a visit?

Pretty sure he owed the little bastard a right thrashing after the shit he'd pulled.

It would be a bit of stress relief and gratification if nothing else.

He could rip off the Atlas personal once again, right in front of them all. Just to enjoy the look of horror once they realised they'd been had.

Tenenbaum, Jack, the brats, fucking  _Sinclair_.

It would be a delight.

Keeping with this new-found good mood, Fontaine took himself back over to the selection of drinks he had in the corner of the office. Selecting something with a bit more bite with one hand while the other reached up to drag the boar head down by the tusk. Might as well make use of the money he had stashed away. It did seem like the occasion to pull it out.

The curtain drawing back seemed a bit sluggish after years of disuse, but Frank found everything just how he left it. A few boxes of smuggled in goods stacked to one corner and all three of his safes still perfectly intact. Good. Being robbed might have left him feeling a touch murderous and rain on his good mood.

Taking a sig, Fontaine went about opening up the first of his safes. Most importantly he wanted to get his hands on a proper cigar. Being stuck with those knock off Sinclair products was enough to send a man batty, he'd gone that extra mile back in the day to keep his smoking to a minimum with the nasty looks he'd get from the broads in his life. Kids could handle a little smoke in their lungs, they were just being nags - but better to just appease the harpies and not risk life nor limb.

The thought left him feeling bitter and Fontaine cringed as he physically  _felt_  his memories further arranging themselves. The good and the bad. It was the good that left him the most unsettled.

"Ya were just jealous I could smoke 'em and you couldn't." Frank muttered under his breath as the first safe popped open and he grinned upon seeing the healthy supply of cash and vices.

Perfect. A distraction.

Another drink taken, Frank pulled the cigars into his pocket and slid the cash into his bag.

He paused when looking down at the bag. Inside he could still just see that recording from Eleanor inside.

It was taking up space and so he figured he might as well toss it. He could just leave it with the other audio diary in this secret side room. His own, that one. If he stretched his memory, he could just recall how gleeful he'd been when recording it.

Anticipating Ryan's demise, a little sooner than it had actually come. Well, all's well that ends well, Ryan was good and buried by now.

Pausing in his decision to toss the kid's diary, Fontaine reached down to pick up his own. Contemplating what he ought to do with it now. The con to Rapture at large had run its course by now and so even if someone found this old thing - it really wouldn't matter.

But Frank didn't really fancy leaving behind a little reminder of the best trick he'd ever pulled on Ryan.

However, the sight of it reminded him a little too much of Reggie and so Frank was caught between two reactions. To set it ablaze or to tuck it away into the bag instead…

No.

Finally, Frank put it back down, settling for a middle ground between destruction and pride.

Better he just walk away and forget all about it and everything attached to it. He couldn't bring it with him after all - not when this particular con was still in the process of living out its last days suckering in Tenenbaum and those idiots.

 _They trust me. This is going to be a cake walk._ Fontaine thought with a smug smirk.

He still had the Atlas face and voice at his disposal and now that his memories had all slotted neatly into place - well for the most part, he could collect the few missing pieces later - things were going to be a breeze.

Still, there was the small matter of getting Delta's kid back.

It was going to be a real pain in the ass, but Fontaine knew this place inside out and some nutty ditz like Lamb wasn't going to be anything more than a temporary thorn in his side.

Once the lunatic was dealt with and that girl was back with her big lug of a father, they could get topside.

Though he had to wonder how functional the girl would be. Who knows what Lamb was doing to her. If she was in bad shape how would Delta hold up?

He'd only briefly caught sight of her sleeping when the teleport had dragged him to her room, no way to know if she was even able to walk from that alone. If it came to it, he couldn't very well be expected to carry the kid himself. But if she was hurt then what choice would he have?

Delta would be shattered no doubt. Seeing his kid like that might just render Delta useless himself. Frowning Fontaine wondered how he'd be able to help ease-

Wait…

What was he thinking?

Fontaine's pace faltered, hand pressing to his head as though he might be able to physically urge down those unusual thoughts. He wasn't going to waste time looking for the big daddy's kid! What a stupid fucking idea.

But if they didn't find Eleanor then Delta would shut down.

So? What did he care? He didn't give a damn about that. They were a means to an end. Why would he-

Fontaine froze.

Realisation finally hit him with a sensation of disgust rolling over his skin as he looked down at his scarred hands.

"You're still in here."

How could that be? Atlas wasn't  _real_. Frank was always himself - he'd just been confused without all his memories.

It was still  _him_  and yet once he'd realised that those persisting thoughts wouldn't go away it was as though...

As though the dream ended.

Suddenly everything hurt and it was a pain he knew. Two conflicting desires splitting violently apart after having been momentarily bonded.

Atlas was still alive in there and Fontaine didn't have nearly the level control he thought he possessed.

As soon as Atlas woke from his slumber, Fontaine was expelled from the vessel they unwilling shared yet again. Tossed back out of the master seat, Fontaine hands lost their grip on the metaphorical chains and he was delegated to a back seat.

Leaving behind the sentient will that had formed in his absence.

Two once more.

Atlas resumed his place at the controls. It was an inelegant exchange of power and Atlas stumbled, doubled over onto his hands and knees. Gasping and gagging as his consciousness slot back into place uncomfortably.

Both realising very quickly that there was no going back to how it had once been. Neither was truly Atlas nor Fontaine.

Frank had mistakenly assumed that once the memories returned the man that  _thought_ he was Atlas would no longer exist and he'd be whole finally.

Not a trace of the ADAM born delusion left behind.

But it was undoubtedly Atlas that was in there now, looking more alive than he ever had been before.

The panting man gradually raising the head of the body that was rightfully Fontaine's, to scowl at the after image in his mind of the shocked con-man.

No longer physical, Fontaine was all but a ghost again - but one Atlas couldn't seem to free himself of.

There was no harmony between them, Atlas had refused to die and return to being the discarded con he naturally was. While Fontaine had no intention of quietly fading away when this life and body belonged to him, one of the few things he'd not stolen for his own.

Slowly the shock bled out of Fontaine's face, replaced with a vicious scowl. "So, it's gonna be like that, huh?" He snarled, a glare from Atlas his silent confirmation.

The wraith like figure of Fontaine straightened back up, Rapture's lights pooling around him as he stood with his back to the large glass windows, looking down on his own body and the imposter inside of it.

" _Fine_."

And when Fontaine took a step forward, towards the small set of stairs the lead down to Atlas's prone form, the ADAM made lie began to scramble back. Not sure what might happen if Fontaine were to try and touch him now, if there'd be a struggle for control, if he would  _lose._

But between them the world was falling back into place, to Atlas's mounting horror. He remembered what happened to Jack, to them. The reveal, the codes that they'd used against the kid and then, finally, Atlas remembered his own creation. The ensuing struggle.

That choice he'd made at the very end to let themselves die up there. The choice had been snatched back away in a Vita-Chamber and now here they were.

All the different memories began to sink in and in a moment of emotion he could not suppress, Atlas screamed at Fontaine.

"It was you." He accused, voice raw but fortunately his own once again. Accent back in place.

Briefly Fontaine seemed taken aback. His approach pausing as he stood at the first step atop his desk's platform.

"You caused all of this. E _verything_."

Too quickly all the memories had been thrust back onto Atlas.

Looking up at Fontaine now, he could see the parts of himself that were ripped straight from the other man. The things that Fontaine hadn't changed about himself when creating the persona he'd taken Rapture apart with. One of many personas he'd worn throughout his life.

A life Atlas now had at his fingertips to dismantle to his own dismay, seeing each lie for what it was.

His family - a farce. Fontaine's own flesh and blood long since burned and buried. The friends and allies he'd thought to mourn before the memories returned, nothing more than collateral damage. And the scarred hands he had now were responsible for so much death.

Panicked Atlas began to tremble. Right down to his fingers he was shaking, teeth grit hard enough they ached as the weight of guilt came crashing down stronger than he had ever known it before and he'd never been without its weight before.

So what if Ryan was dead? They'd taken the rest of Rapture with them.

"If it is too much for you. Then just disappear." Atlas was snapped back into focus when Fontaine spoke again. Voice deceptively level, as though he were telling Atlas something intended to help him.

"Because you're not going to suddenly forget it all again. You live, and you are going to live with all this. Better you just die now and give back what you took from me."

"Took from  _you?_ " Atlas snarled right back, all the guilt and anguish amalgamating into a rage he didn't know he possessed. Anger that could go nowhere because he could not touch Fontaine. All he could do was speak, to be the voice that Fontaine had intended him to be.

Staggering back to his feet, Atlas pointed at Fontaine and went on. "You did this! All of this is your damn fault! Everyone is fucking  _dead_ because you wanted to run this pile of junk. Well, congratulations, you got just what you wanted. You're king of nothing but a city of corpses, Fontaine! Hope you're fucking proud of yourself."

Silence was what got as his answer.

Fontaine's gaze boring down onto him from where he stood. Eyes they shared all but illuminated in the darkness. Atlas couldn't say he had access to Fontaine's thoughts, but he could guess well enough. They'd both spawned from the same source material and Atlas knew a thing or two about this bastard.

Near hysterical Atlas looked back down, his hands still trembling before his eyes. "Everyone...our family." He mourned, reaching up to cover his eyes. As if he could just push it all back if his sight was taken from him.

He recognised now the few ghosts he'd met. The images of both a baby girl and a young boy. As Atlas he'd never known what Jack looked like as a babe. He did now.

"You're too soft." Fontaine uttered in a harsh whisper. "Moaning and wailing about a bunch of rotting bodies-"

In a moment of rage Atlas hurled a fist full of fire at Fontaine. It was a pointless venture, but Atlas acted thoughtlessly, just wanting the monster  _gone._

The flash of flames passed right through Fontaine and struck the bear behind his desk, setting its fur alight briefly only to leave it singed when Atlas would have preferred it'd gone up in flames.

For his part, Fontaine looked a bit shaken. They both knew to some extent he was not physical like this, unable to be harmed, but seeing a ball of fire being tossed your way would unsettle even the oldest of ghosts.

Gradually the alarm ebbed away from Fontaine's face and he spared only a short sidelong glance back at the burned bear. Then his gaze was back on Atlas. They'd reached an impasse.

"Sooner or later you'll vanish." Fontaine informed him coldly. "All I need to do is wait you out."

And just like that it was Fontaine that was gone.

But Atlas did not for one second make the mistake of thinking he would not be back. The ghost somewhere within the corners of his mind. Just waiting for an opportunity to come crawling back out.

Left exhausted and shivering, Atlas took a moment to just stand in silence. To try and recollect himself. To sort his thoughts and reaffirm himself with all the information he now had.

But there was just so much…

Looking back through the past was agonising and so for a moment Atlas tried to focus on the present.

Hastily he checked to be sure that Eleanor's audio diary was still with him. That his own hands hadn't finished carrying out Fontaine's desire to toss it aside.

There it was, safely nestled in his bag. Good. One small mercy.

Just as Atlas had started to back up, intending to drop against a wall and to his knees after that - intending to  _rest_ , he heard something off in the distance.

It took a moment for him to recognise it as screaming.

In a heartbeat Atlas was back on both feet. Alert and far more focused on the moment rather than the nightmare that his open mind and memories had left him with. The screaming continued.

A bellowing wail that Atlas would have known anywhere.

The sound of a big daddy in agony was one thing, the sound of  _Delta_  in pain a whole other.

"Fuck, Delta..." Atlas cursed and not a second later he was running.

Heavy footfalls striking the structurally unreliable ground of the second floor, Atlas's foot nearly broke through it several times. Not that he slowed.

Trying to focus on the sound of Delta's shouts. They echoed throughout Fontaine Futuristics and Atlas was struggling to figure out what direction they were coming from. All he knew was that Delta had gone down while he went up and so he needed to follow him down now.

As he leapt from the steps of the second floor, striking the ground of the first floor hard, the radio at his hip came back to life. The static made a momentary appearance but broke apart quickly, giving way to familiar voices.

"A….At- Atlas!" Sinclair finally got through the static, sounding rather panicked. "Atlas, are you there?"

It was a clumsy motion, but Atlas was reaching down to snatch for his radio, not stopping as he whipped around seeking out the direction Delta might have gone. But in the chaos Atlas still could not pinpoint the sound. "Yeah. Yeah! I'm here, fuck- where is Delta? I can hear him but-"

"Spectacular Theatre." Sinclair told him quickly and now Atlas knew this place like the back of his hand. After all, he'd been there when the layout had been planned and drafted up. So, he turned on a dime and ran towards the theater, the sound of Delta's screaming getting louder and louder.

Only for it to suddenly stop.

Despite needing to get to Delta as fast as he could, Atlas's pace faltered. Stuttering as he slowed to a walk for a moment. A sense of horror sinking in. The silence was more unsettling than the screaming.

Then, just as quickly as his stride had hesitated, Atlas was running again. Dashing through the behind the scenes set up area of the theater, it was fairly flooded. Every hasty step became sluggish and held the risk of slipping.

Atlas very nearly did just that as he came flying around the corner to the backstage entrance. Needing to catch himself on the doorframe to stop from losing his footing and crashing to the floor.

But once he was there, he found Delta.

On the ground. Delta was kneeling, hand up against his helmet and just quaking. Atlas recognised a pose like that, Delta was in agony. It was not all that different to how he'd been not ten minutes earlier. But seeing Delta in such a state caused him to stop dead.

Johnny Topside, Subject Delta - unwilling test subject admitted to Fontaine Futuristics in 1958. The information jumped to the forefront of his mind, whole and simple. Fontaine had not great interest in the former deep sea explore, just enough to ask in passing about him when he was placed into the test subject's ranks.

Test subjects that came directly from Persephone.

All but able to feel Fontaine's thoughts tugging at the back of his mind, Atlas pushed on forward. Thrust that information aside and rushed to Delta's side.

"Hey...hey, can you hear me, Delta?" Atlas tried to reach him, but Delta's body heaved, and the drill swung out at him blindly. Stumbling back, Atlas only narrowly avoided being struck by the drill.

Fortunately, Delta did not seem to be attacking him so much as lashing out and trying to keep things away from him.

This too he thought he recognised. The red glow pouring out of Delta's helmet reminded him of the crazed state he'd fallen into back on the train.

However, this time Atlas had a spark of genius that didn't include fighting.

Quickly he dropped down to his knees, digging around in his bag for the audio diary that Fontaine had almost discarded and started it up. The moment the diary began to kick into life, Atlas slid it over to Delta.

Watching and just praying for once he'd actually had a good idea.

Then, Eleanor's voice started to flow out of the diary and slowly Delta stilled.

The echo of Eleanor's voice registering gradually, and Atlas watched as it sank in for Delta and the man shifted to look down at the little box in silence.

Seconds trickled on by and eventually Delta's light flickered from red to yellow and then finally back to a safe green before losing its colour all but entirely. Back to the neutral look that Atlas knew best.

"Hey, tinman." Atlas murmured once he was sure Delta was back with him. "You alright?"

Delta couldn't verbally answer him, but he could reach down and gingerly scoop up the audio diary. Holding it with such care, scared to break it. Atlas could only watch, and he felt his heart aching painfully. He looked at Delta now and it made him sick to know that there was a part of him that was so willing to turn away from both Delta and his daughter. To leave them for dead.

Hadn't they killed enough children?

Now that he knew Delta wasn't going to lash out again, Atlas stood back up. Walking slowly over to the man, hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

"I know you don't exactly have a lot of words to work with here, bud… but just let me know if you need a minute, okay?"

He couldn't know what had happened here. Looking around he saw evidence of a fight, an incredibly nasty fight and even Delta looked worse for wear. But he couldn't spot an enemy that could do something like this. There was a lot he could guess, but nothing he could say for sure.

So, he simply let Delta tell him in his own way how bad it had been.

Shakily, Delta placed the audio dairy against the ground, leant up against his side to free up his hand and reach for Atlas. He knew exactly what was going to happen and Atlas thought it was comforting for the two of them when Delta planted his gloved hand atop his head and ruffled his hair after a moment of hesitation.

"Yeah, yeah, I got it, big guy. Don't have to scramble my brains here." He protested halfheartedly and then even more tiredly added. "We both need a break, just for a little while."

Delta nodded, just a little forward shift of his helmet. As though any more than that would be too much, and he might collapse. Atlas took this as confirmation enough and slowly settled himself down next to Delta. The two of them sitting together with Eleanor's audio diary between them.

There was so much that had to be done and it was already becoming painful - but for now, they took a moment to sit together in comfortable silence.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't think I don't see you screaming in TomatoScribbles asks. Bless all you screaming children.  
> And if you're not screaming over Tomato's art...what are you doing? Go and look at her wonderful blog!  
> My blog is trash tho. So no need to go there.

Atlas wasn't sure how long they stayed like that.

Sitting in silence, listening to the steady dripping as Rapture leaked. Occasionally Atlas looked over to Delta but the big daddy was so still it was impossible to know if he was awake or not. If he was napping then Atlas did not want to wake him and so remained quiet. It helped that he too, wanted a moment of rest. Leaning against Delta's solid form and just trying to breathe for a moment.

His body was still sore from the unintended trip he'd taken across Rapture and the memories he didn't need to hunt for anymore.

Even now the teleport plasmid sat ever so happily in his bag. Glowing a steady blue and, Atlas thought with no small level of paranoia, just begging him to inject it. He absolutely refused. After that disaster he was in no rush to shoot up with the stuff.

And yet, he'd kept it.

Felt like almost a waste to toss it, a plasmid like that had to be useful for something. He just didn't know what quite yet.

Insurance maybe. Better to have it handy than wish he had it later.

However, it had nearly knocked his brains out tossing him around like that and Atlas wasn't feeling terrible thankful towards it. Even if it had played a heavy hand in bringing him to where he was now. No longer confused and oblivious. That too he was less than grateful for.

He tried to rest. To let his thoughts fall away and offer some blissful mental silence. He was so tired, it should have been the easiest thing in the world to sleep alongside Delta. But despite his fatigue and the sensation of being so close to slumber - Atlas couldn't seem to shut his mind off.

Too many thoughts he had to grow familiar with again, bouncing around in his mind. Eventually Atlas couldn't ignore the situation anymore.

Eyes tiredly opening up again, shaking off the light dozing, not realising he'd been so close to nodding off until he tried to stand. It was sluggish but gradually Atlas was back on his feet.

Glancing over his shoulder and down, he saw that Delta remained where he'd left him. A steady motion as he continued to breathe, but now Atlas was sure he had to be sleeping. Giving him a bit more time to try and arrange his thoughts in private.

And he certainly needed that time.

To come to terms with the things he'd more or less lied to himself about.

It was… a lot.

Knowing that Patrick and Moira had never existed, some a small part of him was _relieved_. Relieved to know he hadn't allowed his family to be killed by Ryan. Well, that wasn't entirely true either. The people that did exist when he was still Fontaine were just as dead.

There was a morbid thought that had Atlas wondering if Fontaine had written the Atlas script with his own dead in mind.

Fontaine...now that was the crux of it all.

Because, despite it all, he still did not _feel_ like he was Fontaine.

The memories were there, but the emotions attached to them were muted. The memories felt less like recollections of things he had done and more as if he were watching someone else carry out the actions.

Having a history recounted to him that was not his own but belonged to him nonetheless.

To say he forgot didn't wash him of blame...and yet Atlas still couldn't make himself connect with his own memories. He just...couldn't think of himself as Fontaine.

Yet, no matter what he thought of it, he most certainly was.

The only thing that helped to ease these pains was, strangely enough, the thought that somewhere in his head there was that ghost of Fontaine. The version of him that wholeheartedly embraced those memories and returned to what he'd always been.

Atlas didn't feel those needs. He had the memories of a rise and fall, remembered the plans that he had made, the choices that he carried out. And yet, once he remembered, the desire to continue hadn't return to him.

He did not _want_ to be Fontaine.

But 'Atlas' wasn't real to begin with. The whole thing was a horrid mess and he was struggling to make peace with it all.

 _Well,_ Atlas thought to himself wearily, _what_ **do I** _want?_

If he were to make any sort of headway, knowing what he did now, what was it he wanted to do with himself? Perhaps if he had an end goal, he would feel more secure in himself.

Regardless of what he did from here, Atlas knew one thing without a shred of doubt. Not a soul could know about what had happened.

Looking back at Delta, he knew in no uncertain terms that if he were to share his truths with any of the group - he'd be damned immediately.

Tenenbaum seemed to be putting him through tests.

No doubt she sent him up to that old office to see if he would come back as Atlas or Fontaine and he honestly couldn't say who he was now. But he'd lie to her, put on a performance if he could and act oblivious. Better that than run the risk of being ousted.

Then there was Sinclair… _then there was Sinclair._

Despite himself, the thought of the man summoned a violent sense of loathing that did not belong to him. Along with a dozen hatred filled memories that both were and were not his own.

It made sense to him now. His natural distrust and tendency to snap and snarl at Augustus. He didn't much fancy sounding like a shrink, but there were definitely some unresolved anger issues there.

As to if that level of resentment was fair to Sinclair was up for debate.

An awful lot of terrible things had happened between he and Fontaine.

Sinclair's hands almost as dirty as his own. Atlas already knew they shared a list of casualties between them, but now he had to add Fontaine's casualties onto that. There were fewer, as so many died during his 'revolution', but it did sour those attributed to Atlas even further.

Sinclair blamed him - blamed Fontaine - and in return Frank seemed to hold him accountable in some way. Or, more likely, it wasn't accountability so much as Fontaine simply throwing his hatred and frustration onto the closest bastard he could find.

First Ryan, then Sinclair… Anyone else would do. Anyone to take the blame instead of himself. Heaven forbid he feel something akin to guilt for even a moment.

Again, Atlas reassessed himself.

Sorted through his memories more carefully and tried to come to his own conclusions. He wanted to be himself, not an echo of Fontaine's feelings and crimes.

What he found in the place of Fontaine's loathing was his own interactions with Sinclair.

The ones that had been strictly between the two of them. And then, as an additional effort to distance himself from Fontaine, he focused on the few good times Sinclair had shared with the rotten bastard before Rapture's fall.

Back when things were strained but still amicable. When they could stand in the same room without shouted words or the desire to pull a gun on the other. When they would talk business in equal measure to their personal lives - guarded as those exchanges might have been.

How quickly they'd turned on each other at the end…

But what Atlas found in himself, was some small semblance of hope. He told Sinclair he did not want to get chummy, to be _friends,_ and yet there was an urge to spite Fontaine by doing just that.

Once upon a time, in a far-off memory that god himself probably had trouble recalling, they'd nearly been friends. But Fontaine wasn't known to partake in the practice and Sinclair seemed to have warmed to it too late.

If Sinclair found him out now, he'd no doubt turn on him again and thus, Atlas swore to keep it a secret from the man above all else.

And among those memories and plans of keeping his secret, Atlas recalled the greatest secret Fontaine had ever kept. This one would likely prove to be the most difficult to handle.

Slowly, Atlas reached into his pocket and fished out the picture he'd picked up the last time he was here at Fontaine Futuristics. When he was down in the belly of the labs that, at the time, he hadn't recognised.

Yet, he had found his way to Fontaine's office seemingly by _luck_ while running blindly. Muscle memory he supposed.

Looking at the faded photograph now, Atlas had no trouble identifying little baby Jack.

He'd probably taken this too out of some kind of subconscious need.

Fontaine was not as clear cut as Atlas had initially thought, and had left him with a laundry list of tricks and behaviours because of that. Much to his chagrin.

He remembered the times Fontaine had gone to visit the kid. Wondered if those muted feelings were genuine or if Atlas was now projecting the feelings _he_ wanted to feel.

Sighing Atlas smoothed over the image with his thumb. The kid would never see him now. Jack knew the truth of who he was, he'd probably shoot him on sight if he were to show his face.

So where did he go from here?

The idea before had been to reach the surface and then reach Jack. To rejoin his only friend left in hell. Now he knew that wasn't going to happen. Knowing all that he did now, what point was there in getting to the surface?

Should he perhaps just rot away down here along with the rest of Rapture's mistakes? It was a grim prospect, but one Atlas thought was somewhat poetic. Seemed like justice if he died down here.

Didn't mean he was mighty keen on dying.

While he was losing himself in thoughts of self destruction, his radio slowly came to life.

The familiar pop and crack of it powering up caught his attention. Half expecting Tenenbaum to speak and tell him the lie was pointless or Sinclair to come furiously cursing at him.

Indeed it was Sinclair, but his voice was hushed and steady. Guess he knew Delta was taking a quick rest.

"Hey, Atlas?" He called and the man that currently went by Atlas answered with a heavy sigh.

"Yeah, 'm here."

It felt strange to be talking to Sinclair. Thinking about how differently they'd once spoken to each other. How Sinclair would lambast him if he knew exactly who he spoke to now.

For a moment Sinclair was quiet. As if to gather himself and it struck Atlas as odd that Sinclair appeared almost as out of sorts as himself. "Kid still dozing?" He asked and Atlas only tossed a fleeting look at Delta before confirming. "Good...needs it I'd wager."

"Don't we all." Atlas replied, very much longing for a place to just lay his head down and rest. He could sleep forever at this point. "What happened here, Sinclair? I just found him...screaming on the floor. Barely bloody coherent."

As he asked for clarification Atlas stepped out into the backstage area. It was darker here, the lights of the theater pooling around his legs through the open door. He leant against the railing of the stairs, radio in one hand and the other hand pressing fingers to his temple. He had a near constant headache it seemed and for once listening to Sinclair did not increase that headache.

"You both ran us a bit ragged there for a moment." Sinclair admitted and Atlas had no doubt of that. "Ever heard of a Demo Daddy?"

_Yes._

"Can't say I 'ave." Atlas lied easily.

It was unsettling how convincing he sounded when lying. Like it was as simple as breathing. No hesitation or damning inflection in his tone. Had he not been the one speaking, he'd have believed himself without question.

And he continued to lie with ease as he went on to add. "Thought we had enough big daddies running around."

"If only." Sinclair muttered. "I'm going to level with you here, Atlas."

He wished Sinclair wouldn't. Felt like more trust he was abusing.

"Alex set that beasty on Delta, bad enough it nearly killed the kid, but what got him was that Alex showed him things. Showed him...showed him the creation process I suppose you could say. The person that got stuck in that suit."

Closing his eyes Atlas had to take a deep breath to steady his nerves.

There was a part of his mind that simply acknowledged how effective a tool Alex had utilised against Delta. Almost delighted in the tactic Fontaine himself had used in the past. Atlas on the other hand only felt ill.

"Let me take a wild guess." Atlas replied, tone biting. "Friend of his?"

"...yeah."

"Fuck."

Briefly the conversation fell silent and Atlas was itching for a smoke. He'd start raiding corpses at this rate.

Again he sorted through his memories. Fontaine hadn't a great deal of interest in Johnny when he came around, but he did have a slight interest in Lamb and the two had seemingly been intertwined long before Johnny got in that suit. Though, it was still Eleanor that tied them.

If he stretched his memory, he recalled the near exact date that this friend of Johnny's would have been snatched. Because under the guise of 'Atlas' he'd found the man's little brother hunched over and weeping while in the carefully hands of one of his boys, Edmund. Babbling about how the outsider had to be the cause of this. Ryan had to be responsible and they'd taken his brother away because of it.

He'd been right of course and despite Eddie's best efforts, he was inconsolable. No one came back once Ryan made them disappear.

The name Eddie brought a new wave of memories, as if a file had been opened up.

Eddie, Jaclyn's right hand man and most trusted friend at the end. He was a rough sort, Fontaine had tortured people in front of him and Edmund had endured the gruesome sights in silence. Choosing his own life and what he no doubt considered justice over the life of a monster.

In hindsight, Eddie had allowed many atrocities to happen in the name of loyalty and justice. He hadn't always been right, but his heart had been in a better place than Fontaine's had ever been.

Which was why it was completely unsurprising he ended up on Atlas's crew once Fontaine was dead and gone.

He'd more or less passed from Fontaine's employment right into Atlas's without realising he had never truly changed hands.

Fontaine knew him well from his days at the fisheries and working under Jaclyn. He was a perfect sucker for this revolution bullshit.

By that virtue, Fontaine had been unsurprised to find him comforting Walter's brother, Lewis, after the artist had been nabbed. He knew little of the artist. Knew his name from Jaclyn's visits to see his works and the fact Ryan greatly disliked the man and his work. Both good things in his mind but nothing that caught his interest beyond the passing of his name.

And now he also knew him as the artist of the painting he had gotten for Delta.

As 'Atlas' he couldn't make out the artists scrawl like signature but with Fontaine's ghost in his mind the writing was easily decipherable. Fontaine put the strangest things into his character. It was a touch insulting that he'd decided to make him unable to read cursive.

Regardless, Fontaine, under the guise of Atlas, had acted the part of the sympathiser.

Joining Eddie in comforting Walter's brother. Lacing every word with little hooks to draw the man in. Get him to loath Ryan as strongly as the rest of them and seek his head on a platter for what he'd done.

At the time, Eddie had protested somewhat. Perhaps it was a rare moment when he saw Atlas for what he was. He never did fully trust him. Always held his doubts for Atlas's good intentions.

Edmund had been a good sort even if a little rough around the edges.

And Atlas remembered very clearly the day he had killed him.

Rather violently trying to push that memory away, wishing to destroy it and never reflect on it again, Atlas pretended to himself not to remember why he'd shot Eddie. He could only take so much self disgust in one sitting.

All this passed through his mind very quickly and without sharing any of his thoughts with Sinclair, he simply said, "I'm going to take another guess here." He began, knowing that guesses had nothing to do with it. "The artist right? The one that made that painting. Can't think of why else the picture would catch his eye."

Rather than give Atlas a straight answer, Sinclair seemed to show a bit more weakness.

"Paintings have names you know. Titles, that sort of thing…" Sinclair spoke softly.

Atlas recognised that tone, one of quiet resignation. A guilt hanging heavy from every word and that too he understood too well. For the sake of that understanding, he stayed silent.

Allowing Sinclair to speak the name of the painting that he'd helped Delta save.

"Topside."

A beat of silence and then quieter still Sinclair murmured. "He named it _'Topside'_ …"

And there was nothing Atlas could say to comfort Sinclair now.

Nothing that would not give him away and reveal every memory he had. Because they both knew that Sinclair's hands were not clean and Atlas knew that Walter's ghost would be weighing heavy on his mind as well.

Ryan might have signed people's death warrants, but Sinclair was the one that took them and handed them on over to Alexander and the big daddy program. Over to Fontaine as well. Which meant...every step that Sinclair helped guide Delta through, was another step he lead a man he'd all but handed off onto deaths doorstep.

With Fontaine in the back of his thoughts, Atlas understood what that was like. Fontaine never felt the guilt that came with the practice, but Atlas did and despite everything - he empathised with Sinclair.

Hated him a little maybe. But he was in no position to throw stones at him in this glass house. He'd destroyed Jack's life as much as he'd help make it, and Sinclair had done something almost the same to Delta.

Atlas could nearly find it humorous, the parallels that ran between them.

There was nothing he could offer Sinclair in that moment to support him, and so Atlas opted to look forward. "We're not going to split up again." He decided flatly. "Not worth all of this."

"For once, you have my full support." Sinclair replied with a tired huff. Trying to return to his usual jovial mood but clearly finding it difficult to remove himself from all of the ghosts he'd gotten buried among.

"You feeling up for a chat with the good doctor?" He asked finally and Atlas groaned. Mercifully Sinclair laughed at that and did not push the subject. "Alright, alright - I'm sure she isn't eager to be chatting with you either."

Sinclair paused for a moment and then said something that truly took Atlas off guard. "Although, them girls are asking after you."

"They're what?" Atlas asked, disbelieving. "No they aren't."

"Oh they most certainly are. Can't tell me you're really that shocked by that. Last they saw you, you'd put yourself between them and Delta on the fritz."

"Yeah but… _me?_ "

"Yes, _you_."

That didn't sound right at all.

Atlas's heart clenched rather violently when he thought of the little sisters now.

As Atlas, he'd done awful things to those girls in the name of the people. As _Fontaine_ he'd made them and he'd made profit off of them. He did not want to be near any children now. Atlas knew he'd do nothing to hurt them - but the fact he had so much blood to his name already made the thought of being close to them now abhorrent.

He was about to tell Sinclair that he didn't have time for the brats when the man cut across him. "Don't leave me with this, Atlas. They'll drive me to my wits end."

Ah. Sinclair felt that same discomfort. Of course he did.

Atlas couldn't say he was surprised. He knew damn well Sinclair didn't want to think of those little girls as human. It was easier to ignore the horrible things done to them if they were not real little girls.

Once again he empathised with Sinclair and groaned in dismay. "Aye, fine. What do they want?"

"You won't believe this."

"Oh lord have mercy, what?"

"Girls want ya to say goodnight." Sinclair was right. He did not, in fact, believe him.

It was so ludicrous. So absolutely ridiculous that he was sure Sinclair had to be tugging his chain. But then again...they were still just children.

"For fucks- alright, _alright_ fine." Atlas cursed under his breath and then in the same breath agreed. "Let's just get this over with. Put the damn radio on over to them."

He could not believe this. It was beyond unreasonable. Even as Atlas he was not the most cuddly or affectionate sort. The thought that any one of those kids wanted to hear from him just didn't check out.

But perhaps he should have known better when he heard Sinclair entering the end train cart and telling the girls they had to get to sleep soon and over the radio waves he heard little Beatrice calling out. Demanding he hand the radio on over. Distantly he thought he heard Sinclair laugh and then the radio was in Beatrice's little hands.

"Atlas?" She asked, almost confused. As though she didn't trust the weird, clunky device she was holding to actually pass her voice along.

Despite himself Atlas huffed in amusement. "I hear ya, kiddo." He sighed and pretended he did not hear how she gasped in delight.

Then immediately dove head first into a bunch of questions. "Where are you? What are you doing? Is it dangerous? Are you scared? Is Daddy with you? Are you going to be back soon?"

"Hey, hey. Easy there, kiddo. Slow down." Atlas needed to try and stop the near constant stream of questions.

And tried to ignore how that also tugged at his chest. Beatrice reminded him of a different kid he'd known. Two different kids at that. Honestly, why were they so inquisitive at this age?

"Didn't Augustus tell you to get your butt to bed?" He asked, faintly amused by the kid's antics.

It was nice in a way. Beatrice wasn't much like them - all the adults around her were so weighed down by the sins they'd accumulated over the years. Even after the trials the little sisters had face, they were still just happy little girls in there somewhere.

"Yeah but…" And now she sulks.

Clicking his tongue Atlas went about chiding her. He might not really have biological kids of his own, but Fontaine had been so kind as to write his character as a good father at some point. "None of that now. Don't be giving Sinclair a hard time."

The sulking devolved into little grumbles of dissent and Atlas smiled more earnestly.

"Go on. Off to bed with ya." Still Beatrice grumbled but he was fairly sure she was doing just that.

Then she repeated one of the many questions she'd hurled his way. "When will you be back?" Atlas could not give her an exact answer. He wasn't even sure if they'd make it back, or if he'd risk returning even if he could.

But her voice was so small.

Fragile even.

She couldn't be more than eight years old or so, she was no doubt terrified even if the girls managed to keep one another's spirits up. And if she was looking to him for some form of comfort it would be cruel of him to deny her that.

"I don't know, darlin'." He answered honestly. His tone gentle for a change while biting back a sigh for her sake. "But we'll be back just as soon as we're able, yeah? Just be good till then."

"...okay." Still her voice was so tiny and Atlas felt all the worse for it.

"You just keep those adults in line till I'm back, ya hear?"

This, at the very least, seemed to perk her up some. "I am!" She asserted and Atlas did try not to laugh. Beyond Beatrice he could faintly hear another of the girls speaking up. Asking if she was done or not. Tired he'd guess.

"Alright, bed time. You tell the girls I said goodnight and Delta says goodnight as well." You know, as best he could.

He heard Beatrice repeat the sentiment to a distant, but resounding, 'night!' in return.

Ha, kids…they were certainly something else.

"Night, Beatrice."

"Bea." She corrected him sternly and this time he did laugh.

"Aye, I got it. Goodnight Bea. We'll be home soon." That may have been a lie, but it came to him too easily and it was exactly what the girl wanted to hear anyway.

"Hand me back on over to Sinclair for a tick now would you-" Atlas all but choked on the word and corrected himself. "-please."

For once he wasn't met with any push back and soon enough Sinclair was back on the line.

"Guess you're a bit better at handling them than I am. You should be back here instead of little ol' me." He lamented, likely returning to his own train cart to give the girls some shut eye.

"Want to swap places?" Atlas remarked with a grin. "I bet you last no more than three minutes out here without Delta."

"Not like you have a stunnin' record on staying alive either."

"Harsh, but fair." Atlas conceded, turning just in time to see Delta beginning to gather himself back up. Guess the time of rest was over. "Right. While you slumber away, we're going to get back to it."

"As if I have any time to sleep with you two rushing head first into danger every other minute."

Again, fair.

"...keep an eye on the kid, Atlas." He added more quietly.

"Yeah...I got it." He muttered back. Knowing that despite Delta being the stronger between them and the most likely to protect him - the kid had to be fairly shaking. Hurtin'. Atlas wasn't sure a soft soul like his would be handling that with much grace.

So, despite who he turned out to be, he'd have to be the one making sure Delta didn't break down.

Conversation over for the time being Atlas latched the radio back to his hip and returned to Delta, who seemed to be shaking his head as a way to clear it.

"Get a bit of shut eye?" Atlas asked as he rejoined the big daddy.

Slowly Delta nodded and Atlas recognised that as fatigue. Physically, emotional, just all encompassing exhaustion. He understood that just fine.

Atlas didn't breathe a word about what Sinclair had told him. Delta was no doubt not ready for that conversation, one sided as it would have been.

Delta had napped with Eleanor's audio dairy at his side and Atlas was careful when he picked it back up and put it away safely in his bag. He debated, briefly, if he should keep quiet about what he'd seen in the mess that the teleport plasmid had tossing him through.

But it was not damning to show Delta the plasmid. There was no evidence of what it had done to him.

So with the bag open he took out the glowing bottle to show Delta. "I found this up at Fontaine's office." Even saying that made him want to cringe.

"Teleport plasmid. Had a bit of a mishap with it I guess. Unstable or somethin', tossed me a few places in Rapture." Fortunately, nowhere underwater, that would have killed him right fast. "And I think...well I _think_ I saw your girl."

That had Delta's attention snapping to him. Truly focused now where before he'd only been listening with mild curiosity over the new plasmid.

Atlas offered him a slight smile, a little uneasy but attempting to give Delta something good to hold onto. "She seemed alright. Asleep in a kid's room."

Then to further drive home the optimism he was offering Delta, he reached out to clap him on the shoulder. Which was admittedly a bit high up for him.

"We're going to get her back safe and sound, Delta."

He nearly tacked on an 'I promise' but thought better of it. This was still solid support without getting into the dangerous waters of promises.

And it seemed enough. Delta's hand came to rest over his own in silent thanks.

The moment of rest had ended.

Now Atlas dearly wanted to go and give Alex a run for his money.

He certainly remembered the man now and he was than a little livid. If he had all these crimes on his shoulders, he might as well start atoning for a few by killing off the other monsters.

It was the least he could do.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did I ever tell you this story was only ever meant to be 15 chapters long?  
> ...welp here you go. Have chapter 32.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And ah...thank you all for your comments?? They are literally 60% of my writing drive. Knowing how many of you want to shank me for this agony.  
> It's so nice to see some new faces too! Welcome to this dumpster fire. Enjoy your stay.  
> And don't think for a second I don't see all you regulars screaming at me. You sweethearts.

After that, Delta and Atlas stuck together closely, not giving so much as an inch to any potential threats to part the two of them again.

They found the third of the relay devices and Atlas felt a twinge of anger knowing Alex had probably organised this whole thing in advance knowing that the relay device was practically on the other side of the theatre. Delta was eager to leave the area at the very least so he jammed his drill into the device so violently he nearly took the wall out with it.

Atlas found this to be a healthy way to work out some of the frustration and anxiety Delta was likely feeling. Better a wall than his face.

Finding the fourth was a bit harder.

They searched all over the first floor but with every dead end it became yet more time they had wasted.

Although, when Atlas did finally admit that the signal relay they were looking for was likely above them, it did prove to be a bit difficult to manage, more so than the they'd initially expected.

The floor simply was  _not_  reliable and the negotiation of movement became extremely perilous. Atlas went out ahead of Delta and would test how stable each patch of ground was. Which consisted of slamming his boot down on every patch just to be sure. From an outsider's perspective looking in, even Atlas had to admit it was a pretty amusing process.

And, unfortunately, it was also a  _slow_  process.

They were running short on time and both men knew it, as did their guides back on the train, but not one of them spoke out loud about it. Unwilling to force another divide after the one that had left both of them rather worse for wear the last time.

Not that Atlas was forthcoming with his own experience.

As Delta navigated through a flood section of the upper levels that had become flooded, apparently not particularly bothered by the electric shocks - a tonic upgrade he was informed, Tenenbaum came a calling,

Atlas stood back, well out of the range of the flooded area and watched Delta closely as he made his way towards the relay inside. Listening as Tenenbaum lied to him.

"Herr Atlas?" Came her tentative voice. Guarded, Atlas had to admit, for good reason. "The signal relay at Fontaine's office was destroyed, yes? We were unable to contact you."

"Yeah, I noticed. Nothing but a bunch o' static." He replied dryly, but at least he was honest at first. "Might 'ave something to do with getting hurled through time and space."

She was probing, looking for cracks in his facade - Atlas gave her nothing.

He'd played this game once before and fooled her well enough in the past, though now it left him on edge and being more careful with each step he took. She knew more of his cards this time around after all.

Before the conversation could progress into dangerous territory, Atlas heard the telltale sound of Delta breaking something with his drill and let a relieved smile cross his face.

The last relay was down.

So it was unsurprising that Alex came flying out of his hidey-hole at that exact moment, already screaming.

"Remember your station, Delta! This is  _my_  facility and  _I_  am your superior in command!"

God he was still just as grating as ever and now Atlas had another axe to grind with him.

Perhaps it was against his better judgement that Atlas attempted to bat at the machine. It wouldn't have done any good, maybe knock it off path slightly and that was a best case scenario. But Alex took it rather poorly all the same.

"Keep your paws off company goods you good for nothing rabble rouser!" Alex screeched.

And if Alex told him what to do then Atlas was inclined to do the exact opposite, if only to spite him.

So, despite the futility of it, Atlas raised his pistol and fired off a round into Alex's bot. Ever so pleased when it caught up in the rotors. Sending the bot and Alex screaming off to the side and crashing to the ground. He'd just be back with another one in no time - but it was satisfaction all the same.

Alex was cursing and spitting at him still when Delta came meandering out of the flooded room, sparing a glance for the downed bot before giving Atlas a thumbs up.

Relay destroyed. Success.

Though Delta had something in his other hand and Atlas looked down at the audio diary he'd brought back with him.

Tossing Delta a quizzical look, Atlas decided this was probably not all that unusual. He had no doubt Delta listened to many of the audio diaries he found scattered around. If it was morbid curiosity or a search for possible answers, Atlas couldn't say.

Maybe he just didn't fear the ghosts like Atlas did.

Regardless, Delta was holding this one out to him and so Atlas decided to listen to it as well.

Once the diary was taken, Delta turned and began to carefully make his way back through the path they'd carved out to get here. Atlas frowned after him, wondering if his quick departure was because he did not want to listen to the diary a second time.

With one glance made towards the broken security bot, Atlas noted that Alex was gone from it. Likely in a hurry to organise a new bot and Atlas gave himself a pick me up by thinking he'd get the joy of destroying that one as well.

Only for that pick me up to die as the diary in his hands started up and Alex's voice, in his sanest state, came across it.

"Anyone in the plasmid business ultimately requires the use of human test 's our dirty little secret, and to be frank, Rapture doesn't really want to know. Provided the end produce is sound." Alex confessed and Atlas groaned in dismay.

Fuck, he already  _knew_  this.

Delta no doubt did as well to some extent, but to hear it directly from the horse's mouth must have stung.

There was more to come from that proverbial horse as they reached the security booth. Now open to them to plunder as they saw fit and oh boy, did Atlas see fit.

He went straight for the assortment of supplies and ammunition while Delta went about listening to Alexander prattle on about his desire to get put down like the mad dog he'd become. For the first time in a while, Atlas was more than happy to lend a helping hand on that front.

Though, part of him squirmed in discomfort at the thought of Alexander's requests. Wanting to die in those memories of the man he had been, but no doubt willing to fight tooth and nail to live as he was now. It left him feeling on edge.

Maybe that was why he jumped when the slot on the wall opened up and spat out a security bot.

Stumbling back Atlas prepared to shoot the damn thing down like the last one because he hadn't been paying attention to the part where Alexander's recording said it was a friendly gift of sorts. Just as well Delta was there to place a steady hand atop his gun and lower it. Giving him a side glance that had Atlas grumbling irritably. Okay, perhaps he should have been paying more attention.

Now that he was paying attention, he cringed when Alexander told them they'd have to access the  _real labs_ , he knew that was where he'd been spat out of the Vita Chamber initially and it was no place anyone would want to go. But, at the very least, he'd know his way around.

He also knew exactly where they'd find Alexander's remains. Alright. He'd just need to lead without making it clear he was leading.

No problem. He was an accomplished liar it seemed.

Delta, ever the focused one, went for the switch while Atlas turned to the little collection of supplies left for them on the far wall. Only to frown when he found the old bastard had stashed away a plasmid bottle.

"God, when it rains, it pours." Atlas muttered, plucking up the bottle and turning it over in his hands. At least this one did not toss him across Rapture the moment he so much as grazed it with his fingers.

Sonic Boom, Atlas had seen this in use only a few times in the past and for the most part it was snubbed as a plasmid.

When there were more showy ones like incinerate or things as destructive as gravity well - who would need a soft shove like this?

Presenting the bottle to Delta, Atlas waited for his thoughts on the matter. The big daddy flicked the switch and freed up the path to the secret labs before taking a moment to consider the plasmid left to them. Delta stared at it for quite a long time, thinking more deeply about it than Atlas expected he would.

Then slowly Delta looked to his own hands and Atlas could see him taking stock of the plasmid he already had. Figuring out if he needed this addition, if it was worth shuffling through more abilities.

Atlas thought he'd take the plasmid, so it was a shock to him when Delta shook his head and pushed the plasmid back towards Atlas.

Alarmed, Atlas understood immediately what Delta was implying.

Delta was a walking tank and he had plenty of tools and tricks to fall back upon - Atlas did not. He had his incinerate, electro bolt that had been more or less gathering dust and pistol - that was about it. When in Rapture, that wasn't terribly impressive. No doubt this was a great source of stress for Delta and this plasmid might help to ease that.

He doubted Delta would suggest such a thing if Tenenbaum had not told them he seemed to be handling ADAM just fine. So loathe to put anyone in harm's way when it could be helped.

And the working theory was that Atlas was able to handle ADAM well enough not to lose his mind and mutate. They didn't know why.

Well, they pretended not to know why. No doubt Tenenbaum had some idea and now, so did Atlas.

It was because he'd cheated in a way. Because when Fontaine had first flooded his veins with the stuff - it was plasmids that other just weren't offered.

Special to him from that old crackpot Suchong.

That higher quality meant that he was able to remain a bit more in control and a bit less like a splicer. At least until they'd gone completely overboard and taken on almost all the ADAM within Rapture. Now that he was drained of a majority of it, he could be relatively normal again.

But Atlas wasn't sure what it would do to him long term, given his scarring and how those scars reacted to him continuing to use ADAM - it was all uncharted territory to him and not likely to lead anywhere good.

Hesitantly Atlas looked back down at the plasmid glowing away in his hands. He really did need the extra punch. Something to protect himself a little more than an old pistol and some flames.

Still…

"Think this is a good idea, tinman?" Atlas asked, looking to Delta for some form of reassurance.

Delta seemed just as hesitant as himself. Rather than give him a straight forward yes or no, Delta turned his palms up towards Atlas in a gesture that Atlas took to mean - 'up to you'.

Honestly, Atlas would have preferred Delta pushed him one way or the other.

As it was, Atlas knew he needed the boost and there was no way in fucking hell he was putting that teleport into his system. It wasn't even remotely stable and he was, admittedly, still a fair bit sore over what it had put him through.

With a deep breath Atlas nodded and went to open up one of the first aid kits Alexander had left them with. Every single one came with syringes after all - typically full of EVE which he would also need in order to replenish his reserves enough to use either of the plasmids he'd now have.

To be honest, Atlas wondered if any of the other old plasmids he'd had a handle on as Fontaine would reappear at some point. He had more than incinerate and electro bolt, that much he remembered.

In part he recognised that possibility as one that could keep them all a bit safer, but on the other he didn't want anything else to connect him further to the past. So for now he was left with what he found for himself.

Mercifully, Delta remained silent as Atlas went about organising himself.

They both knew he was no great fan of this, but the necessity of it was lost on neither of them. It would give Delta some peace of mind to know Atlas had another way to defend himself if he were unable to do it for him.

And, in some small way, it was nice to know Delta trusted him not to become a splicer when in the past even the big daddy had been unsure of what to make of him and ADAM.

Regarding the needle in his hand, Atlas cringed. He always did hate this part.

"Well, bottoms up, lads." Atlas remarked dryly, if only to comfort himself, and jammed the needle right into his arm.

There was a sting as his skin was punctured, but it did not really hurt all that much. Not until he applied pressure and forced the drug into his system, that is. Then the pain really hit him.

A ragged growl ripped out of him, better that than a scream. But he remained determined. Atlas struggled to force every drop into his veins. Despite the pain of it.

Spare none and waste none.

From the corner of his eye, Atlas could see Delta stepping towards him with his hand out, likely trying to steady him before he dropped. The attempt was appreciated and for a second Atlas thought that it might just help him but then the plasmid seemed to click into place and cement itself with a small outward display.

Both Delta and Atlas cried out when the abrupt force that exploded from the freshly injected plasmid struck them.

Delta was hit head on by the sonic boom while Atlas was pushed back purely by the unexpected force of it. Delta's helmet smashed into the monitor that had only minutes earlier been holding Alexander's image. It shattered and broke down to the terminal below.

Worst of all was the poor security bot they'd only just gotten. Hit with the blast, the bot went flying out of control, smashing into the floor and bouncing once or twice before skidding to a halt. Jerking and flashing as it gradually lost its power. Ruined.

Anything not tied down went ahead and got blasted away as well.

Leaving the small security room a proper mess.

After a moment everything settled again and Delta began to rub his his helmet as if that might somehow help, despite being completely incapable of touching his head through that metal shell.

"Ah shi-" Atlas began cursing but gave up halfway as he rushed to help Delta get out of the broken shards of the television screen.

Only for that first step he took to show him how dizzy and off balance he was. Atlas had to brace himself against the doorframe just to stop from collapsing.

"You okay?" He asked Delta instead, while waiting for his head to stop spinning. It didn't.

What he got back was a thumbs up and judging by the shaking of Delta's shoulders - the guy thought it was hilarious.

"Oh yeah, laugh it up you big lug." Atlas groused, ears still ringing. "God- Fuckin' hate plasmids. Urgh…" His ears just wouldn't stop ringing.

Sounded like static.

Slowly Delta righted himself, glass crunching under his boots as he shook off the little spill they'd just had. Sonic boom clearly wasn't deadly then. That or Atlas was going to have to focus a bit more when aiming it.

Well, not unless you were a security bot he thought with a glance over to the busted machine. Groaning Atlas opted not to comment on how quickly he'd ruined their 'gift' from Alexander.

This was why they couldn't have nice things.

Finally he felt able to join Delta, standing upright and shaking his skull to try and dislodge that sound.

It was painful.

"Right...after that  _wonderful_  little experience, let's get out of here. The whole place is getting under my skin now."

Atlas stepped away from the doorframe, allowing Delta to move on past him and begin making his way back towards the 'employee only' door on the far side of the building.

While Delta meandered on off, Atlas spent a few seconds flexing his hands, looking for signs of further mutation. He knew that some plasmids only showed physical variations when in use, and many others would form permanent mutations over time - all had an effect of some kind.

But his hands didn't look much different.

Still scarred and calloused, but there were no unusual holes or spikes in his skin. For now, that had to be good enough for him.

Still disorientated, Atlas trailed after Delta, occasionally cuffing his ear to try and get his head back on straight. This plasmid better be god damn worth it or he was going to be livid. He'd be lucky to get out of this with just a headache.

Fontaine Futuristics was quiet now.

There was probably some splicers somewhere, lurking about. But any that had even half a brain left after all that splicing, would know to stay away after hearing how Delta had been bellowing.

Now it was just them wandering through the remains of what had, once upon a time, been such an achievement of his.

No, of Fontaine's. Not his.

Briefly Atlas tossed a look back towards the entrance way, though he couldn't make a direct line of sight with the hall, it hardly mattered. Just knowing it was down there was enough. The memory he'd seen while standing before that large globe centrepiece was no longer some long lost memory from someone else.

He remembered that day so clearly.

The pride he'd felt. The excitement he'd shared with the few he kept close to him. Even if they hadn't really felt that same excitement - indulging him all the same.

Sighing Atlas forced himself to look away and continue inwards, once again trying to shake his head and clear it of all sound and thoughts as he walked forwards.

Towards the parts of Fontaine Futuristics where his pride and joy became twisted and horrible. Where Rapture's life's blood had been developed.

Returning to the labs was the last thing he wanted to do. It was like he was stepping back into a closet he knew was filled with skeletons, practically begging to get dragged down into hell with the rest of the dead.

But to get away, he first had to step into those darker memories. It was the only way to get to a light on the other side. If there was anything like that waiting out there for him.

However, as he stepped away Atlas's gait paused.

The uncomfortable ringing in his ears breaking for a moment as he thought he heard someone. He expected to hear a splicer's rantings somewhere, the usual mad chatterings that became white noise in Rapture now days.

And yet, the voice he heard was too steady. Too sane. Too familiar.

Someone calling out to him.

He'd chased ghosts in the past, a morbid sort of curiosity, a need even, driving him to do so. But now he knew if he went looking for ghosts it would only hurt all the more.

"Go away." Atlas whispered dispassionately into the air. "You're dead."

Atlas could feel something cold catching at his wrists, like little fingers were reaching out to try and snare him. To pull him back, into what he didn't know.

Where he'd be dragged he might not know, but he knew this cold and it brought with it the need to run away.

To run far enough that he'd find no more memories and no more ghosts. Because the options were running away or turning to face them all.

Chasing ghosts hurt but running from them was a different sort of pain all together. Regardless, he steeled himself for that sting and opted to escape again. Just a little longer.

Ripping his arm away from that self made cold, Atlas took to escaping yet again.

Rushing to catch back up to Delta's side, Atlas felt the cold drop away.

Just being closer to someone that was alive seemed to push the dead back away from him. It was not a permanent fix, but it would keep them at bay for a little longer.

Atlas wasn't even sure how long that charm would save him.

Granted, when he did meet back up with Delta and found the man already standing in the now open 'employees only' doorway, he remembered exactly what had been tucked away.

The way down to the secret labs. Though  _civilian_  means, in other words, sneaking in rather than walking in. That required some underhanded methods, to find a back door entrance and those entrances were usually well hidden. Which meant...

Atlas cringed.

An airlock. Of course it was an airlock.

"Delta...what did I tell you about the ocean? And about me  _not_ getting back into it?"

There was no way to confirm without a shadow that Delta was smirking at him when the behemoth turned slightly to look at him - but to put it mildly - Atlas would have bet every dime he'd ever owned on it.

This shitty little brat…

As he reluctantly started to gather up yet another diving suit, Atlas had one comforting thought.

At least the ringing in his ears had stopped.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Question: Would anyone be interested in some audio clips to go along with this AU?
> 
> Recently I have been speaking to a friend that had me thinking maybe some fan Audio Diaries might be an interesting thing to do with this story.
> 
> If that's something you guys would be interested in, please let me know on here or on Tumblr or Twitter.
> 
> Now then, onto the story.

Well, here he was.

In the water.

 _Again_.

Despite his great displeasure, they'd once more stepped out into the deep blue sea and it was positively miserable.

Atlas was rightly miffed as the icy temperatures hit him once again, causing him to shudder as once again they were spat back out into the waters of Rapture.

There was plenty he was willing to leave behind from his past, a personal bathysphere was not on that particular list.

However, that thought did cause Atlas to pause as he was carefully finding his balance this time.

His personal bathysphere, which he'd actually used to get  _out_  of this place the first time around. Damn, he hadn't even realised it at the time, but it had been his.

And some underwater monster had torn it a new one.

God he hated the ocean.

Gritting his teeth Atlas focused on not falling this time. Walking along the seafloor, trailing after Delta like some lost pup. Delta was so much more at home down here and Atlas couldn't empathise.

He hated the sound of the ocean as well. That muggy, oppressive muted sensation that was mostly made up of his own breathing and the slight clunk and clatter as he moved within the suit. The water itself too difficult to describe in words just...heavy.

It was difficult to make heads or tails of anything down here and if something were to make a sound at all, he'd probably miss it.

Truly, he hated the ocean and, by extension, himself for coming to live down here.

At the time it had seemed like such a good idea. Thinking back on it, Atlas could just recall how fixated he'd become on Rapture once he caught wind of it.

On the surface he'd had a good set up. A bar all his own - stolen from some poor idiot in one of his man cons - enough money to be comfortable and all the joys that came with continuing to scam good, honest folk. Well, he conned plenty of less than savoury types as well - if that were any consolation.

All that. Nights filled with drinks and raucous music. A few close friends that he could genuinely rely on. A setup that was safe and easy to relax in. And he threw it all away for  _this_. Decay and mildew. Yeah. Well done, Frankie, you're a fucking genius.

In the privacy of his diving suit, Atlas sighed. He couldn't help but think those words in a ghost's voice and wondered if he'd ever actually go by 'Frank' again. Probably not. He  _wasn't_  Fontaine, so why would he be Frank either?

Atlas. His name was Atlas.

A few steps ahead of him, Delta had come to a standstill. Atlas followed suit though he was rather surprised by the sudden halt. He wanted to ask, to reach out and tap at Delta's shoulder - but everything was difficult in the water. The effort it would take t reach out alone was enough to make him feel tired. He just didn't have the energy for that.

So he waited, head tilted as he watched Delta looking around. Noticing that he seemed to be following something in quick little jerks of his head. Atlas felt his heart sinking - he seriously could not stand another shark encounter. But the way Delta tried to follow whatever he was watching didn't seem like how a shark would move. These erratic, sudden movements.

Trying to see what it was Delta had seen, Atlas could only see the murky distance water stretching beyond them. It was disconcerting how quickly sharks and other sea creatures could just become swallowed up in the open water.

Giving Atlas the sense that even when he could not see the animals, they would always be lurking nearby.

Thinking of the shark that had come to see what these strange creatures were doing at the bottom of the ocean last time, Atlas tried to pick out the flash of a fin or the turn of a white underbelly somewhere in the deep.

Then. There.

A flash of pale flesh and a lash of a tail. Far out ahead of them, moving between the underwater landscape of Rapture's gardens. Moving fast. Low to the ocean floor. Atlas found that odd. Sharks were such large animals that tended to move with wide and long strokes. But this thing zipped along the ocean floor, twisting in a way that almost reminded Atlas of-

No. It did not  _remind_  him or something. It  _was_  that something.

It was not a shark.

Atlas's heart leapt into his throat when he truly saw it. The figure that only vaguely resembled a person anymore. Bulbus, pale flesh illuminated by the glow of Rapture from the safety within. Safety they were currently without. Left exposed in the splicer's own domain.

He'd tried to banish the image of the thing from his mind, but here was another in the flesh, rushing towards them.

Oh shit-

In a panic Atlas tried to reach out for Delta, to shove him out of the way. Once his hands connected with Delta they both went tumbling off to different sides.

The pushing motion in turn shoved Atlas back in the opposite direction through the water. The creature darting between the gap between them.

A near miss that he was eternally grateful for. However, once he'd lost his balance, there was no way to regain it. And so Atlas kept falling, no longer on the ledge that he and Delta had been following like a pathway.

Sent plummeting in the slowest fall known to man. Sinking lower and lower until he hit the ocean floor again. Falling against another of Rapture's statues, had they been on land he might have crashed through it instead, but in the water he did little more than bump against it.

Briefly Atlas noted it was yet another greek figure, Poseidon. How appropriate.

Damn this suit's weights. They might help him navigate the floor but it made it impossible to really swim anywhere and now it had anchored him down a level from where Delta was. Separating them after they'd both had more than enough of that.

Getting his bearings again Atlas looked up hastily, trying to find Delta's figure through the water's haze. He couldn't see Delta, but he did see the creature. It passed through the water so smoothly, vanishing in and out of sight as it moved, its sickly pale flesh all but merging into the water when far away enough.

Being unable to see it would be terrifying, seeing it coming at you was a whole different kind of terror. And it was a terror Atlas felt rather strongly as it twisted and turned onto him. Coming shooting down from above in his direction.

Atlas was acutely aware of how little he could do in order to stop the oncoming beast.

It would tear him to shreds before he could even attempt to run in this place. Every movement was sluggish and slowed to a crawl, he'd be unable to take two steps while this creature zipped through the water like a torpedo.

Fuck.

Not the most eloquent last thoughts to have, but that was probably all he had time for.

At least, it would have been, had Delta's drill not come rushing through the water with almost the same level of speed as the splicer moved with. That drill dash had a bit more power than Atlas had given it credit for.

The drill struck the creature on the side and Atlas thought he heard it screaming. Good.

But its hide was stronger than expected and all too quickly the writhing beast was whipping up and lunging at Delta in return. All but wrapping around the drill and arm, constricting and squeezing with it's lanky body till Delta was the one letting out a sound of pain.

"Oh fuck- Delta!" Atlas shouted in his suit on reflex even though Delta couldn't hear him. If he could, he'd have likely ignored Atlas when he went on to shout. "Don't!" Wishing Delta would, just for once in his big stupid life, not be such a bleeding heart. Just  _once_  not rush to his aid without a second thought.

Still he struggled with the sea monster, trying to get a leg up on the situation. But even for Delta, who was far more competent under the waves than Atlas ever was both before becoming a big daddy and more so after, the ocean was not his domain. It was the monster's home, and the creature had an edge that they just didn't. Its speed and mobility too great.

So Atlas was stuck watching as it clawed and bit at Delta, continuing to squeeze around his arm to the point that Atlas thought it might break.

The overwhelming urge to just help struck Atlas so hard it hurt. But what could he do down in this crevasse?

His incinerate didn't work down here. If he tried anything with electricity down here he'd fry them all and that new sonic boom could do nothing but  _push_  the creature. If he was lucky to even touch it from this distance.

His guns, his plasmids, none of it would do anything in a place so far out of his element.

Atlas was helpless.

He shifted a bit. Trying to get himself back up off the ground, to maybe find something,  _anything_  to help them. Unwilling to sit there and wait for the beast to finish with Delta and then turn on him. In his moving, Atlas's arm bumped against the statue again and when Atlas reflexively turned to scowl at it in a fleeting glance, he realised what it was he'd struck.

In the statues hand, sat Poseidon's trident.

And it was made of steel.

The metal glinted in the dull light, shining through the few patches of its surface not covered in grime and baricales. Old, but sturdy and, most importantly,  _sharp_.

And just like that, Atlas finally had an idea.

Reaching up Atlas grabbed hold of the old statue's ornament and tugged. Needing to brace a foot against the statue's base to have the leverage to rip it clean off of the statues already fractured hands.

The stone crumbled and gave away after a few violent tugs and the spear fell right into his open palms.

The trident alone wasn't enough to save their skins. It was rendered useless if he were to try and use it underwater like any other sword or spear. But this was Rapture and in Rapture there were all sorts of tricks to make things deadlier than they had any right to be.

He might not have telekinesis to show off as Delta did, but he didn't need it. He had his own tricks.

Untested as they might be.

Fumbling, Atlas raced for his EVE hypo only for his fingers to stutter once it was in his grasp - hesitating. Atlas always hesitated when he went reaching for more EVE, knowing full well that he shouldn't put too much into his body.

That hesitation must have been a second too long because suddenly the cold he felt had nothing to do with the ocean's icy temperatures. A telltale chill that rushed up his spine was the unpleasant warning he was given before he heard it in his head.

"You gonna die down here, imposter?" Fontaine's voice asked lowly. Mocking to the very end. "Or are you gonna to do something about it?"

Then with more bite Fontaine snarled. _"Then do it."_

And, of course, Atlas did.

The needle slid so neatly into the slot on the suit's arm, mimicking the way Delta took his own shots, and the bite of the needle caused Atlas to flinch. But his gaze stayed fixated on the creature that had Delta outclassed in this domain.

Watching, Atlas saw as the creatures claws dug further into Delta's arm and let out a shout in the confines of his suit, forcing the plunger down quickly to send EVE racing into his system. So happy to be at home in him once again.

A familiar flush of energy rushed through him and an equally familiar sort of satisfaction followed it. Briefly lived as Atlas's panic took precedence.

His panic outweighed the distinct sense of victory that came from somewhere in the back of his mind.

EVE burned through him, thrumming in his veins, a promise of power if he used it. But electro bolt and incinterate were out - he only had one left. It would have to do because this idea was all he had up his sleeve and if it didn't work they were both going to get torn to shreds.

Up above him he could see Delta struggling with the creature. Trying to keep snapping jaws away from his helmet with one hand while it coiled around his drill. It was a struggle he was losing.

Time running out.

He'd only get one shot at this. And his hold was shaky with nerves.

The sound of his own heartbeat thundering in his ears, eyes wide as the fear settled in. One shot. If he couldn't do this then they were good as dead. The pressure was unappreciated and his chest tightened like a vice.

Atlas was terrified. He could not even rely on his own aim when he was shaking so badly.

Then, a firm cold settled on his arms. The sensation akin to hands, gripping his trembling arms, holding him in place. His shaking stopped.

" _Steady."_  A voice murmured in his mind. This time it was not Fontaine. It was a comfort.  _"You gotta aim before you fire off, boss."_

Aim. Right. He remembered. Take a deep breath, focus on the shot and  _why_  you were firing. He remembered that.

Just like the first time he'd held a gun. Firm hands seemed to steady him and Atlas took a deep breath as he'd been instructed, and tried to focus as directed. And when he opened his eyes again, he was indeed, focused.

Sharp and precise, Atlas finally he hurled the trident out before him into the water. Vigilantly, he watched as it began to sink once leaving his finger tips. Gliding out ahead of him in the water and ever so slowly lining up. Points dipping into position and-

 _There_.

Atlas threw his hand forward, the water between him and the spear rippling out violently before an explosion followed. The pressure of the sonic boom plasmid pushed all the water out of the way, striking the spear in an instant and picking it up in its wake.

The spear flew through the water, faster than the splicer had moved and with a deadly accuracy that Atlas liked to believe was all down to skill when it more likely had a healthy dose of luck behind it.

And in his mind that old memory praised him.  _"There. Bullseye."_ It said, sounding amused in that gruff tone. Fondness maybe.  _"You're a natural, boss."_

There was no sound as the trident speared through the creatures sleek body. Just an abrupt jerk, a moment of confusion and then a cloud of blood.

Blood that Delta pulled back out off, tearing the now limp splicer's body from him. Untangling himself, Delta turned to look down at Delta, conveying a quiet sort of panic. Grinning behind his mask, Atlas gave the big daddy a rather cocksure thumbs up. Acting as though he'd not been counting his blessings that whole time.

Now there was the small matter of the divide between them. Atlas cringed as he watched the blood spreading out through the water. If there weren't any sharks around before, there'd soon be some coming to rip into the remains. They needed to be out of here, but Atlas couldn't exactly get back up onto the same level as Delta and if they wasted time figuring out a way to get him back up there then they'd have more deep sea creatures to deal with.

Atlas would rather  _not_.

So, with a great deal of reluctance, Atlas tried to gesture for Delta to keep going. To let him know he'd find his own way there and they'd just have to meet up at the entrance to the labs. He knew vaguely where it was after all.

"Atlas?" Sinclair's voice buzzed in his helmet. "You good?"

"Yeah. Tell Delta to get a move on. I'll meet him there."

It was with no small level of cruelty that Sinclair went on to say, "You're heading out into the deep blue on your lonesome? How brave."

"Gee.  _Thanks,_  Augustus." Atlas seethed and heard the man laughing through the radio. Prick. Let's see him navigate his way around the ocean floor and ask him if it's so funny.

"For the record." Atlas growled. "When I get back to the train I am going to rip you a new one."

More laughter from Sinclair. Atlas rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to getting the hell away from that spot. Pointedly not looking up at Delta again, not wanting to know if the kid was still watching him with that silent but somehow deafening concern. After all, he'd saved him that time. One step to catching up to the long list of times Delta had saved his skin.

Carefully Atlas made his way through the few remaining pathways in Rapture. Noting a downed bathysphere and old fueling station as he did. The whole place was a rapidly growing graveyard. He'd rather their tombs not be added to the extensive list of the dead.

Atlas thought he was perhaps a few hundred feet away from an entry point when the feeling hit him.

The sudden wave of nausea took Atlas off guard, striking him rather violently and causing the man to stagger slightly. Under his skin he could feel ADAM beginning to activate, not unlike how his veins burned when using a plasmid. He needed to look down to his hands to ensure that he had not in some way lost control of them and unintentionally activated a plasmid. But that wasn't the case. The feeling burned uncomfortably through his skin, but no plasmid attempted to flare up.

Then there was that cold. That static in his ears and a pounding in his skull.

He could not stop here. If he were to pass out or fall while out in the ocean it was as good as death. So Atlas pushed through the sick feeling coiling in his gut and pretended he did not see the light of his own scars beginning to glow on the inside of his helmet.

Struggling, Atlas sluggishly made his way to an airlock. He caught sight of the entrance and at the same moment the relief came, so did that horrible churning in his gut. A hunger for ADAM appearing inside of him and that truly scared Atlas.

Desperately he made for the airlock. Stumbling over to the doors and placing his hand against it, waiting for the bioscan to complete itself. He wondered if it was seeking out contamination in him and knew damn well it wouldn't allow him access if it was.

But no. Instead it registered his identity. And the doors unlocked, welcoming the owner of Fontaine Futuristics back inside.

That sick feeling grew more unbearable.

Once inside the airlock began to drain all the water out, but before it was even down to his ankles, Atlas had removed his helmet. Needing to get away from that oppressive space as his skin burned more painfully and the urge to vomit welled up inside of him.

Disorientated, Atlas doubled over and gagged. He had nothing in his stomach to throw up which only made him realise how hungry he actually was on top of everything else.

However, his focus could not be torn from the sensation of ADAM crawling its way under his skin. Pulsing through every vein, fed by the EVE he'd allowed into his body. Dazedly, Atlas realised that it must have been the EVE hypo he'd used, though he couldn't decipher why it had him so ill.

Could EVE be bad? Go off or be contaminated in some way? He did not know but fear began to grip him. Wondering if he'd actually managed to poison himself.

If that were the case, at least he'd managed to save Delta before the poison killed him.

Doubled over on his hands and knees, Atlas curled an arm around his stomach, still gagging and gasping for air as the pain grew worse.

And with it the static.

Until finally Atlas heard footsteps. Forcing one eye open, unaware of how tightly he'd screwed them both shut, Atlas tried to raise his head and see who had found him in this state. Hoping it were Delta though those footsteps were not the heavy thuds of a big daddy.

The person that had found him was no person at all and Atlas bared his teeth when he caught sight of Fontaine's figure standing before him.

Where he was hunched over and in agony, the ghost stood proudly, a sneer on his face. "Not bad." It remarked, eyeing Atlas's prone form like he were some particularly entertaining bug squirming about before him. Just begging to be squished.

"Thought for sure you were going to get us both killed for a moment there. But don't worry, buddy, you made the right choice."

"Right...choice..?" Atlas grit out. That wording sounding off in his head. But perhaps that had something to do with his splitting headache and the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears.

Fontaine's smirk was nothing short of vicious.

"You are nothing but some ADAM made mistake. Let's unmake you."

And just like that, Atlas was no longer the one on the dripping wet floor. In an instant all that pain and grating noise stopped as Fontaine slipped back into his own body.

His body stopped shaking and while Fontaine still needed to take in heavy gulps of air, there was no more choking or gagging.

With a deep breath, a smirk curled along his lips. Taking his time, Fontaine gathered himself up off the ground. He'd admit, that was not his most elegant return to control, but at least it was a return. Giving himself ample time to get out of the ugly diving suit, Fontaine reflected on how easy that had actually been.

A little nudge in the right direction and Atlas had all but handed control back to him. He was no great fan of using EVE or ADAM himself - but if it got him back on track then he'd gladly do it a hundred times over.

Although…

Fontaine was in the middle of removing his diving boot when he thought back to what had happened out there in the water. Bitterly he wished he did not have to be cursed with the same affliction as Atlas, recalling ghosts. Atlas ran from them like they were trying to snatch him up and drag him bellow and for once Fontaine thought the man had the right idea.

What point was there lingering on the dead? Even if the memories were not always unpleasant ones.

With the boot slid off and discarded, Fontaine was left to think about the voice that had rung in their head when they'd needed steadier hands. Needing a moment to catch his breath and think.

Christ, how many years ago had Reggie even told him that?

He had to have been at least twenty years younger when Reg had showed him how to line up a good pistol shot. That was seriously reaching deep into his memories to come up with that. He hadn't thought about life on the surface in a long time.

Fontaine didn't much appreciate Atlas digging it all back up.

Better to forget. To pretend none of it had ever happened. How else could he be expected to move forward? There was no time for sentiment.

Finally feeling ready, Fontaine straightened up and stepped out of the airlock, leaving behind the diving suit. He recognised this area of his little lab set up, granted only vaguely. He didn't spend much time in the bowls of it like this. Normally only dropping by to check in on his investments. Pretending he understood half the things that came out of Tenenbaum's mouth.

He learned quickly what was good and what was not - even if the technicals were lost on him. He gave it a bit of effort, reading up on some medical journals he had taken from the doctors.

It had taken some time and a great deal of frustration, maybe some embarrassment as well, in order to understand any of it.

Despite himself, Fontaine recalled the few nights he'd fallen asleep at his own desk after his eyes had grown heavy with the weight of words and concepts he didn't understand. Waking up sore and disgruntled, but almost always with some sort of blanket haphazardly tossed over his shoulders to keep the chill away.

Occasionally he'd even call on Tenenbaum, when his pride didn't ache too badly, and request she run him through one concept or another, in those musty old books. She never ridiculed him - likely because she simply didn't care in the slightest - but would make the time to explain it to him all the same.

"Herr, Atlas. You make it safely. This is good. Delta has made his way to the laboratories through the Oxy-Fill station entrance." There was some disgruntlement from Tenenbaum when she added. "It would seem Sinclair has more unsavoury ties than expected to know of it."

In the background Fontaine heard Sinclair speak up. "Hey now, don't go besmearing my good name by acting as though I  _wouldn't_  have some behind the scenes knowledge."

Humph. Typical.

Opening his mouth Fontaine planned to deliver them a lie in an Irish lilt, only for it to be his turn to be struck with a feeling of queasiness.

This time when there was a shift between the two of them, there was far less fanfare. Fontaine stumbled and seemed to slip right back out of his own skin as Atlas settled right back in. Answering Tenenbaum in a hasty breath. "Y-Yeah...heading up there now." His gaze never dropped from Fontaine - rendered a ghost yet again.

The two stared at one another in silence for no less than ten seconds before Fontaine seemed to snap.

"No...no!" Fontaine raged, screaming in frustration as once again he was relegated to an observer in his own body.

He was not a solid person and so when he turned and struck the nearby wall with his fist, there was no damage done to himself nor the wall. Just a dull, imagined impact. Though to both of them, it sounded as though Fontaine had cracked the wall, only for his fist to drop away and reveal absolutely no evidence that it had been been brushed against.

Just their mind filling in the scene for them where one was not really there.

Panting raggedly, Fontaine seemed to take a second to calm himself, fists clenched tight at his sides. After a few more seconds, Fontaine took a purposeful deep breath and seemed to shake some of the tension form his shoulders. Though the air of fury never truly ebbed away. Slowly he turned his head to scowl back at Atlas over his shoulder.

"How many times are we going to do this, Atlas?" He asked in a hiss. Acting as though Atlas were some unruly brat that didn't learn from the cane after repeated licks. "It's a losing battle for you. You're on borrowed time here, so just hand me back what is rightfully mine."

Atlas, still left shaken from that momentarily loss of power to Fontaine needed a moment of his own to recover. When he did he met Fontaine's loathing with a look of horror. Knowing now what seemed so obvious in hindsight.

"It's the ADAM..." He whispered, staring at Fontaine with wide eyes. "You've been using it to…" Become more real? Take control back? Drive him insane? Atlas couldn't nail down which of the list it was, if not all three.

Continuing to scowl at Atlas for a second longer, Fontaine scoffed. "Figured that out have you? Took you long enough. I don't remember writing you to be so fucking dense."

Looking back on it, Atlas could clearly see Fontaine's influence behind him whenever ADAM and plasmids were on the table. The vindictiveness, the desire for more…

In a way that was comforting. To know it had less to do with addiction and more to do with this ghost of a man.

In defiance, Atlas snarled. "I won't have another drop o' the stuff!" Fontaine paused, listening. "And you'll disappear."

This seemed to both amuse and infuriate Fontaine further. Turning on Atlas with the same heat as he'd held when striking the wall.

"I made you!" Fontaine shouted.

The only reason that all of Rapture was not on them in an instant was because no one else could hear Fontaine. That must have felt rather lonely. Maybe Atlas would pity Fontaine were he anyone else.

"You're not even fucking real! You're some pretty fantasy whipped up because Rapture was full of a bunch o' suckers! Just because you feel like you're alive right now, that don't make it so."

"And yet." Atlas replied, slowly. Each word low and harsh. "Here I am."

For a beat, Fontaine was speechless. Perhaps feeling the reality of that statement sinking. Atlas was in there and he was out here. Unable to do anything other than watch.

Another wordless sound of anger ripped out of Fontaine before he jammed his finger in Atlas's direction and continued to rage.

"Mark my words, you'll slip up eventually. We both know damn well that you  _need_  ADAM if you're ever going to survive down here and once you've had enough that body is going to be mine again."

With that Fontaine blinked back out of sight. If by his own volition or simply his moment of coherency leaving him, Atlas couldn't say. But those parting words left him shaken all the same. Repeating in his skull.

The promise that one day he was going to be snuffed out of existence in his entirety.

Delta was waiting for him, but Atlas needed a second to just breathe and keep his arms wrapped tightly around him. He wanted to exist in some way. To have evidence that he'd been here. But he didn't know how to cement that.

Well...he could start with doing something that would help the few that knew him to live on. Atlas could start there.

That goal was calling out to him, trying to get Atlas to return to the job at hand. But he just needed a few more seconds to breathe.

Just a few more seconds...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But seriously let me know about the audio diary thing and if that's something you guys would enjoy. o.o


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note:  
> Hi guys, this is a mini chapter update for a few reasons. One I wanted to keep this short and sweet for the content but more importantly this serves as a chance to announce that yes Audio Diaries are a thing that I’m working on.   
> If anyone is interested in being a VA for this project feel free to audition here:  
> And if anyone wants to help me actually get these made or just help in general you can support me here: 
> 
> And for everyone else that just wants to read? Don’t you fret none, I’ll still be writing trash as usual. 
> 
> Thank you for your feedback on this! It means a lot to me.
> 
> Audio Dairies Auditions: https://www.castingcall.club/projects/bioshock-audio-dairies-tps  
> Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/MaliceAndMacarons

It was pitch black in here.

Internalising a groan, Atlas stepped back out into the darkness he'd first awoken in. Distantly he could see the soft glow of those ADAM infused plants. He was sure the splicers down here went a bit nuts for the stuff. Great. Yet another problem to add to the ever growing list.

As Atlas began to make his way through the dark, half by the limited visibility he had and half on memory.

There was no time left for him to rest. The time he'd spent just recovering from his run in with that seemingly unerasable ghost had set him back in progress. Delta was waiting for him somewhere and he had to go and find the big lug.

No doubt he'd be stressing beyond belief being separated once again. Atlas empathised.

Fortunately it was not hard to locate Delta, because Alexander's old recorded voice was sounding up ahead of him. Triggered by Delta's entrance no doubt, and so, Atlas followed that sound.

"I'm afraid the lights burn my eyes terribly." Alexander was explaining.

Telling Delta that they could not be turned on until their arrival. Until they were here to kill him. Then that stinging would not matter anymore.

The closer Atlas drew to the sound, the more he recognised this place. This was literally the room he'd originally woken up in. Which would mean that  _Alex_  was only a few feet away in that large containment tank of his.

Picking up the pace Atlas all but began to run, limited sight be damned. He wasn't going to be absent when Delta came face to face with what Alex had become.

Up ahead of him he caught the flash of a pointed light. A spot light and already he could imagine Delta's helmet providing him with the light to see. Wouldn't do the big daddies any good to be blind on the job after all.

Relieved, a smile broke over Atlas's face as he just managed to make out the silhouette of Delta ahead of him. The light turning with the big daddy as he looked around this new environment. No doubt weary of it as he should be. It did briefly occur to Atlas that may, just  _maybe_ , Delta was also looking around for him.

Best not to keep him searching.

"Delta!" Atlas called out as he neared and immediately that spot light whipped over in his direction. The sudden light causing Atlas to slow and raise an arm to shield his eyes. Only giving out a little huff of laughter as he continued to approach Delta.

"Ay, easy there. You'll make a man go blind with that blinker of yours."

Didn't seem as though Delta was hearing him because the big lug was all but immediately rushing over to him. Atlas might have been spooked had he not known Delta to be a gentle giant. When he wasn't ramming his drill into splicers that was. Still, a flash of surprised raced through him when he was suddenly enveloped.

It was a touch awkward, one of Delta's arms being equipped with the drill still but he seemed determined to do this. Both arms securely wrapped around Atlas who's mind had come stuttering to a halt on what this was, despite how obvious it was.

A hug.

...oh.

It took a few seconds but gradually Atlas was able to process what was happening and raise an arm to pat Delta's back with a roll of his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I get it - I'm a walking target without ya." Delta squeezed a little harder and Atlas's expression softened. He must have scared Delta something fierce.

Then again, Delta might have been hugging him because he knew how much Atlas  _hated_  the ocean. And he'd been left alone in it. If the poor bastard felt guilty then Atlas had a responsibility to help chase that feeling away.

"It's alright, Delta." He assured quietly. "We both got out in one piece."

Even if his piece was fairly fractured under the surface.

Finally Delta seemed to have calmed enough to focus on the task at hand. Although, Atlas could feel the reluctance in the big daddy as he slowly released him from the near bone crushing hug.

"Got it out of your system?" Atlas remarked and Delta seemed to only huff. Feeling indignant but still too relieved to really get up in arms about the teasing.

Then quietly Tenenbaum's voice came across the radio. Soft with relief that shouldn't have stabbed at Atlas like it did. "Good. You are together once more. Find the circuit breakers to return life to this dreadful place."

Tenenbaum was on the right path. They could use some lights.

Breaking the lingering contact, Atlas stepped back away from Delta till the backs of his feet were just beyond the spot Delta's light illuminated. In this limited light, Atlas could still clearly make out the surrounding machines. Familiar to him.

Ammunition and supply machines, gene-banks, more red plants. Little spots of light as his eyes further adjusted. Aided with the slight light that Delta provided, giving Atlas the outline of the control terminal just a few steps ahead of them.

Beyond that he knew Alex's tank would sit.

But what truly kept his attention was what was just tucked out of sight around the corner. If he focused, Atlas could just make out the steady glow of the Vita-Chamber that had started all of this.

"Get those lights on." Atlas instructed Delta, gesturing towards the rest of the chamber. "You're the one with the flash light, best you find the breakers. I'll see about getting new supplies."

It was a small lie of sorts. Atlas would definitely stop to see how much of Fontaine's cash he could waste on chocolate bars - out of spite alone - but his true intentions were far milder.

Waiting until Delta had wandered off, taking the majority of the light with him, Atlas turned to walk towards that faint glow of the Vita-Chamber. Frowning as he turned the corner and found it tucked away right where he'd left it. Door still slid open from when it had spat him right back out.

With one last cursory check over his shoulder to see Delta's light wandering around somewhere on the level below his, Atlas took a knee in front of the chamber. Fingers running over its surface as if seeking out the damage he knew had to be there.

Sure enough, hidden just beneath the edge of the plane glass door, was a small etching. A sign that the work had been done, nothing more than that. All else would be internal damage that made this machine an enemy of Ryan's rather than a safety net.

Distantly, in Fontaine's memories, he could feel a prickle of violent satisfaction. Knowing this pet project had paid off when initially it had been scrapped as a dead end.

He knew Sinclair had sent him to find Valery back at the threter because the Vita-Chambers had activated again.

Not because he was curious as to why that was, but because it meant that she had to have been alive to do it.

In the past he'd dismissed that possibility.

Accused Sinclair of knowing Valery was dead before sending him up there to seek her out. He recalled the hatred with which Sinclair had looked at him. Anger he recognised in himself as a means of defence.

To hide from the ghosts on his mind. Sinclair had been hoping Valery wasn't another name to add to their list of casualties.

He'd send Atlas looking for her under the pretence that he wanted to figure out what was going on with the Vita-Chambers, but he'd just wanted to find someone still breathing.

Rapture wasn't kind enough for that.

Sitting back onto his hind haunches Atlas regarded the stolen Vita-Chamber with tired eyes. There'd been so much delight in him when they'd first gotten ahold of it down here. Stealing from Ryan - a beautiful pick-me-up. Clearly once Fontaine Futuristics had been taken over by Ryan's people, no one thought to get rid of this thing and only added more around the place. Unaware of the one corrupted machine among the mix.

And now he stood here today thanks to that.

Some part of Atlas wanted to reach for his radio. To call Sinclair up and tell him that...what? That Valery's life wasn't on his head? Would there even be any point in that assertion at this point?

Likely not.

Instead Atlas sighed and rose back to his feet.

At the theatre he'd left Valery's body behind. A jacket placed over her to chase away an imagined cold and Bea laying flowers down with her.

Now he stood in the glow of her handiwork, alive in her stead and Atlas was unsurprised when he felt the cold creeping in.

Closing his eyes Atlas took a deep breath, feeling that familiar cold inching up his arms and along his shoulders. Impossible to tell if it was real or not anymore. He'd long since decided it did not matter. Fontaine said he wasn't real, so if the ghosts on his mind were just illusions then he wasn't that different to them either.

And because he wanted to feel real, he spoke to the cold coiling at his spine as though it were as well.

"I know I'm not who you would have wanted to bring back." He muttered, voice kept hushed so as not to disturb the rest of the world as he spoke with the dead. "I know you'd sooner see me in the ground than standing here and I know it don't mean much - but I am sorry."

The cold stilled, lingering around his arms and Atlas was sure that if he so much as glanced to look in the glass of the Vita-Chamber, he'd see someone standing at his back.

"I wasn't that man. I…"

The words caught. Atlas couldn't tell if they were true or not. Wanted to tell the ghost that he wasn't the man that came to her for guns. Or the one that stood over her shoulder as she installed the first power to the people.

He wasn't the man that had told her he fought for the people then turned around and put a bullet in her friend when push came to shove. All because they'd tried to take a little sister from him.

The memory came back to him, violent and unwelcome.

The last time he'd seen Valery, her arms tightly wound around a terrified little girl. A room in ruins, scarred by evidence of plasmids being used in defence of what had been a home. Atlas and his men separated from her and the child only by a man that had situated himself between them. Atlas's gun trained on his head.

Speaking. Something. It didn't matter. He didn't want to remember the words said before the trigger was pulled. They'd lost Valery and the child in that conflict - but in turn she'd lost the life of a friend. Shot with one of her own guns. Fontaine had taken some sick vindication in that.

Because that's all those actions had been. Atlas on the surface. Fontaine beneath it. He wasn't Fontaine but he couldn't say he was Atlas either.

He just…  _wasn't._

All he was, was the memory of the final look in Valery's eyes as she'd taken the girl and fled. He was all that was left behind.

Still, he tried to steady his voice and finish what he set out to say. "Not gonna ask forgiveness or anythin'. Wouldn't get it even if I begged. I know that. I owe ya my life twice over. So, for that, I can at least get  _these_ girls to the surface."

The cold retreated some and with a dispassionate little chuckle, Atlas added. "And for good measure, I'll give Sinclair a good knock over the ears for ya."

Like everything else, it had to have been imagined - but Atlas swore he heard some laughter.

Then the cold faded and Atlas felt a bit emptier than before. Instinctively he turned, seeking out where that cold had suddenly vanished to, but instead all he saw was the lights flickering back on as Delta flipped the breakers. And the space behind him vacant of life. As it likely had been the whole some.

But that emptiness didn't fade.

He could distantly hear Alexander's recorded messages starting up again. Delta taking up the task of listening to that dead man's voice. But Atlas could not rejoin him just yet. Standing there and wondering exactly when that hollowness would fade and what it was that he'd lost this time.

Finally, with a shuddering breath, Atlas tightened his grip on his bag and stepped over the patch of ground where the coldness had once lingered. Feeling nothing as he passed it and returned to the world of the living once more.

It felt only right that, as he left, he mutter. "Bye, Valery…"


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long gap in updates. Been working on other projects.
> 
> Audio Diary updates:   
> The first casting call is wrapping up soon and hopefully the audio diaries will be getting recorded and polished up for release very soon.  
> For any characters that don't have VA's the auditions will be staying up so still feel free to send in an audition. :>

Alexander droned on his prerecorded messages as the facility slowly came back to life.

" _Sophia and I knew that to create the first true utopian would come at a high cost my friend. We needed someone to be host to all that Adam raptures finest minds. A willing subject…That is to say, myself."_

No sooner than the lights were switched on entirely, Alex was howling. Cursing Delta and writhing in his watery chamber. While Atlas strode up to Delta's side, expression decidedly unimpressed, he could feel how Delta squirmed beside him.

They'd seen plenty of awful things inside of Rapture but, Alex? Well Alex certainly was something else.

Fortunately Atlas had been prepared for the sight this time and took some pride in being able to say he didn't so much as flinch while Delta recoiled. Let the big lug think he wasn't as horrified by Alex as he was.

Gave him a little chuckle to be the only one with his wits about him for a change.

Unable to witness in person the raw emotions his abhorrent appearance inspired now, Alexander seems wholly aware of it as his escorting spoke on.  _"Whatever you may have seen inside the take that was Indeed me. And I fear the fate of Eleanor lamb will be less physical but no less grotesque."_

Alexander confirmed it, but still some people seemed to struggle to accept that this thing in the tank was once the man that left those recordings for them. Sinclair among those people.

"That thing in there used to be a  _man_ …?" Sinclair sounded rightly horrified.

Atlas wasn't sure you could really call Alexander a man even in his prime.

Maybe in body he was, but there had to be a point at which someone became too immoral to be considered a man anymore. An animal maybe. A cockroach. Atlas definitely knew how that felt from a personal perspective.

Alexander didn't seem to think too highly of himself anymore. Neither the man he had been or the thing he had become.

Atlas listened with quiet detachment as he instructed them on how best to destroy him. He distantly thought he recognised that kind of resignation, maybe even desperation. Guiding someone else to kill him to escape the weight of his own sins. Sounded more familiar than Atlas would like to admit.

" _This tank for deep sea life is the ideal way to dispose of me. You'll need to retrieve enough Adam infused plant life to lure me out. The slugs feed on the stuff and it's all I seem to want now. I have left a sample here so you know what to look for._ " Alexander's recording wound down and seemed to go quiet with the knowledge that someone would take care of the mess he'd made before losing his mind entirely.

Still Alex, as he was now, writhed and cursed at them, hurling insults and cries of insubordination at them. And Altas, of course, saw this as a wonderful opportunity to gain some personal closure through relentless mockery.

"Hey, ya big ugly squid." Atlas greeted with a wicked sneer. "Don't be getting so riled, we're here to grant your last request. Ain't that right, Delta?"

He could tell the big daddy was only just resisting the urge to give him a cuff around the ears.

But hell, a man had to draw his amusement from somewhere in this underwater hellscape. And if his amusement came from mocking Alex-The-God-Damn-Great, then that's exactly what he'd do.

"You!" Alex screamed, voice breaking and cracking along the radio lines. "This is all  _your_  fault!" He accused vehemently and Atlas shrugged.

"How do you figure?" He asked dryly. "Way I see it, I didn't put you in that tank. You got Lamb to thank for that. And the lights? Well, you - oh, so sorry -  _Alexander,_ told Delta there to do it. My hands are clean on this one."

For as jovial as his jeering came across, Atlas did gradually feel a familiar hatred seeping in. Anger so deeply ingrained in him he wasn't sure if it was his or Fontaine's anymore.

Not that it mattered. The anger came from different places, betrayal when thinking how quickly Gilbert had abandoned ship to Ryan's employment and seething loathing when he stood next to Delta - one of many Alexander had so callously killed in his own scientific way.

Regardless of which source he chose, he  _hated_ GilbertAlexander.

"So really. This is all  _your_ fault." Atlas finished, voice lowered and slowed and he glowered at the thing in the tank.

Watching as Alex squirmed and recoiled from the light. Finally shrinking out of sight and into the safety of the depths with one last pitiful cry.

"Damn you, Atlas." It croaked, while withdrawing into the darkness of the tank. "Damn you."

Atlas very nearly replied,  _damn us all._

How fortunate that Delta was not half as grim in humour or defeated in heart as his Irish companion. Stepping forward to scan over the control panel now that the lights were back on. He briefly paused on the specimen that Alexander had left them, but quickly returned to roaming over the controls.

Looking for something.

When he came up empty handed, Atlas saw Delta making a hand gesture right before his helmet. Communicating. He was more surprised than he should have been. Delta had to give his guiders some sense of what he was thinking and seeing after all.

What he was thinking now was that he  _wasn't_  seeing much of anything.

Over the radio, Sinclair sighed. "Yeah I thought about as much. Can't be making this easy for us now can they?" He groused, but just as quickly chirped back up. Taking on his more helpful tone. "Well, it's not as though the other override keys you've been huntin' haven't been difficult to nail down too. Genetically encoded keys are scary difficult to work around. No fuss, I know ya can manage it, sport."

Atlas saw Delta sag with a heavy sigh, yeah, he felt that too. Heaven forbid they just be left with the key to work with. Delta had been too hopeful, thinking he could just find one laying around at the control panel for them.

Even if they had, Atlas doubted Delta would leave without dealing with Alex.

Grumbling, Atlas started rifling through his bag, taking a knee to look around his supplies while Delta picked up the plant Alexander had laid out for them. Still dutifully listening to Sinclair instruct him.

"And unfortunately, to get to Lamb, you'll need one from ol' Gil in there. I don't know about you, but I wouldn't want to try fishin' around in his pockets. I think we're gonna have to print a new one from a sample of his DNA. Step one is to find those plants he left ya and lure him back out." Sinclair explained, never once breaking from his role as Delta's guidance.

Tenenbaum would occasionally break in of course - only to correct Sinclair here and there on certain moral points.

Though as of late she'd broken in less and less. Atlas was willing to put money on that being down to Sinclair needing course correction far less often than when they'd started. He kept that to himself.

He hadn't been there to see what Sinclair said and did when this little mission of theirs first started, but he could more than imagine how he'd have behaved. He'd known Sinclair too well when they were both on top of Rapture.

They'd fallen quite far, but it seemed that Sinclair had managed to find somewhere soft to land with Delta to help him.

So long as his secrets stayed secrets that was.

"Real shame we can't just go printing another one of those keys for Lamb. Would save us a whole lotta trouble getting the keys from her." Sinclair pondered with a light sigh. "Not like we could cut loose now even if we did o' course. Not with little Eleanor still out there."

At this, Atlas groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. Already needing to think about the quickest, safest way possible to lure Alexander back out with those plants.

"Genetically encoded, how fucking typical-" Atlas groused only to pause abruptly.

Mind sharply stalling on one point that Atlas himself would rather not dwindle on but is mind refused to let him move on from.

Ryan's key. The genetic key to Rapture. To  _all_  of it.

"Lamb has the key to Rapture?" He heard his own voice asking raggedly.

"How else do you think she's been running this sinkin' ship? Oh sure, she had a bunch of those faithful followers before this - the mad dogs they are - but the splicers? Need the keys for that party trick."

Atlas felt dizzy. A little sick even. "And that's what we need…"

It was barely even a question but Sinclair answered as though it were.

"No other way to get topside. Got control of all the goodies down here, heard her blow subs that tried to take off." There was a hitch in Sinclair's words and had Atlas not been so distracted by the sick feeling coiling in his stomach. "Heard her send off people to deal with any too curious subs…"

"Right. I hear ya, I hear ya…" Atlas mumbled, making a vague gesture with his hand that, even if Sinclair could see, would have convinced no one. "Just...need a second to think." Except, thinking was the exact last thing Atlas wanted to be doing. Diving back into his own thoughts more dangerous than stepping into the clear sights of a big daddy.

Better to just get on with it. Not stop long enough to get caught up in it all.

"Ay, Delta?" He called, tossing a glance up at the big daddy as he toyed with the plant in his hands.

The call seemed to take Delta off guard and those large gloved fingers squeezed a bit too tight. The plant squished in his hand, Delta jumped in alarm and only ended up squeezing it tighter in his panic.

God bless this boy. He had Atlas laughing again.

"Just the most delicate bull, aren't ya?" He teased and Delta seemed to huff before plopping the somewhat squished plant life back down onto the display panel. A touch embarrassed by the look of it. "Yeah, well," Atlas went on, "Try not to trample all over the other ones we get."

The fact that they'd be getting others left Atlas preemptively exhausted. Then again, that might just be his existing fatigue catching back up with him. No rest for the weary.

Standing back to his feet, bag carefully sealed back as best as it could be, Atlas's gaze caught on Alex's currently vacant tank. He couldn't help but wonder how much the disgusting sea creature would really struggle, given how desperate the sane man's actions had been. Desperate to die before the insanity took hold. Desperate, but still too great a coward to do it himself.

If he'd wanted so badly to be put out of his miserable existence, how much of a fight would he actually put up now? Insane or not.

But perhaps, it was not so much that Alex was insane - though that was irrefutably the case - but rather the creature that had slunk away form the light didn't retain a trace of Alexander. Truly its own grotesque person.

Well, Atlas had killed people who wanted to live all the same - no difference to him.

Sighing, Atlas rubbed the back of his neck with the hand not used to hold his pistol. Knowing that this place was no doubt crawling with things that were as unhindered by his desire to live as he was with theirs.

If it came down to him or them, then there was really no question as to who would be swallowing the bullet.

For what must have been the thousandth time, Atlas turned to Delta with those exhausted eyes of his and mustered up a 'what can you do' smile and shrug. "Should we get on with it?"

Their fatigue shared, Delta nodded slightly and Atlas replied with spinning the barrel of his gun. "Wonderful, I'll lead."

Might as well, he knew this place's schematics after all.

…

…

The testing chambers had fared about as well as he expected.

That is to say, not at all.

What wasn't flooded was blood coated or rusted beyond the point of salvageability. Large sections of the metal supports left exposed, only able to be walked over by the haphazardly tossed down planks of wood. Making sure they had to keep track of where they were placing their feet.

Even before the water began to leak in it had been a dreadful place.

Fontaine himself had visited less and less towards the end. Plenty of things hard warded him off, but mostly he had no need to keep up the visits after a certain point. Little sister production set in motion and no longer needing him to come an inspect the progress each week.

Then there was little Jack… Atlas tried not to think about the times Fontaine had gone to check up on that particular pet project. It was a bag of mixed emotions he didn't have time to unpack when crawling their way through the ruins of Fontaine Futuristics's labs.

Decaying, filthy, reeking of stale blood and no filled with ghosts no doubt - the facility had long since become unbearable to be in.

Oh. And it was crawling with splicers.

Of course it was.

Perhaps if their faces had not mutated so much Atlas might have recognised one or two among the remaining doctors and scientists. Unlikely, this place had been overtaken by Ryan's men once he stole it from Fontaine. Once a bargaining chip that had almost been handed back to him and the revolution - now a mass grave to Ryan's industry. Any faces he would have known were little more than traitorous rats that had jumped ship into Ryan's camp when Fontaine Futuristics got seized.

Atlas could respect that. He'd reward that survival instinct with a bullet.

And with Delta watching his back, that particular reward became an easy one to deal out.

Without the need to focus on what might be trying to sneak up on him, Atlas was free to go on the offence. Always knowing if Delta was there at his back by the tremors his every step caused at close proximity.

If he missed one, Delta was sure to clean up after him. A carefully aimed spear or drill at close quarters and it was a short lived scuffle for splicers stupid or suicidal enough to fling themselves into the fray.

It was unpleasant, gruesome work, but they weren't the ones coming after them with a blood lust. Delta would have sooner left them all to their business had he the option.

Again, Atlas was reminded of just how soft a soul Delta was, in one of those rare moments of calm when Delta stopped to observe the derelict testing chambers. Atlas was content to push on past the sordid past of facility, only knowing it from the outside, safely away from all experiments.

But when Delta stopped to look at the patient holding tables, Atlas knew he was remembering - however vaguely - what it was like to be on the inside of the facility. This place was no place for Delta to be. Atlas wished they hadn't been forced to come here.

Those examination tables looked more like tools of torture than any kind of medical device. One, an uninviting looking chair to be strapped into standard but no less eerie, but the second was designed to hold a subject upright. As though at any second someone might start flinging knives at it in some bizarre circus display.

Either side of the containment devices, screen continued to cycle through familiar propaganda. The kind they made for children.

And above first chair, emboldened in big, pitiless letters - ' _Gather Candidate'._

How much larger those restraints looked now. Larger and cruller, knowing that it was sweet little girls that had been strapped into them.

Recently at that. This whole facility had been brought back to life by Lamb, no doubt at least a few little girls had been made into little sisters down here before Alex took control. The children that was snatched from the surface, dragged down here and made into monsters. The sheer unapologetic heartlessness of it struck a familiar cord with Atlas.

It was abhorrent enough that Ryan had torn children away from their families down here, that Fontaine had taken in the lost and needy and used them to further his ambitions - but to go that extra mile. To take from people that had never stepped foot in Rapture. It seemed a new level of cruelty, to snatch the unwilling away from the sun.

There Delta was, staring at it all. His gaze lingering on those restraints for children rather than the larger device that had ' _Protector Candidate_ ' hanging above it. Regardless of which horrible thing he started at, Delta seemed unable to tear himself away from it.

So it fell to Atlas to guide him back. Little more than a touch to his arm and a silent look. If it were encouragement to push on or comfort it was hard to say, but it was what Delta needed to get moving again.

Unfortunate that moving required that they get closer to those dreadful contraptions, because nestled between the two was one of the ADAM infused plants they needed. Atlas took the lead, as promised.

Stepping ahead of Delta so he need not get any closer. He didn't question Delta's reluctance to approach, couldn't begin to imagine what might be going through his head at that moment. But he knew what was going through his own. These plants were just another rung on the ladder to getting out of here. A step closer to Eleanor and maybe undoing the few horrors of this facility that they could.

"How many do you reckon we need, Sinclair?" Atlas asked into his radio as he plucked the plant up and cringed at the unnatural way it seemed to  _pulse_  in his hand.

"Do I look like the resident expert on what that thing eats?" Sinclair groused, but the heat behind the words was lighthearted. The sort of barbs born of exhaustion. Seemed they were all feeling it.

Tenenbaum broke in smoothly. "How fortunate, I am." She said calmly, though paused before adding, "Well, as much as one person may be. Bring no less than three back to the feeding chamber."

"Two more don't sound so bad." Atlas replied and then internally kicked himself for saying something so stupid. If it did turn out ot be 'so bad' then he'd have no one to blame but him and his big, stupid mouth.

Two more. Surely they could handle that.

As it turned out, the second one was easy enough to find. Easy in regards to how quickly they were able to locate it. Less easy was getting to it. Alex had set up turrets around the plant's location. A small lower level that had ' _Pacification Chamber'_ hung above the stairwell down.

Seeing that, Atlas had given Delta sidelong glance. "Sit this one out, eh? Not much good to me if you're all dozy."

But apparently that had sounded too close to splitting up and Delta wasn't having it. Not after the last few times they'd been split up from one another.

Thus, they'd both descended into the chamber and, sure enough, the doors had closed up tight behind them.

Atlas managed to get half of a justified 'I told you so' barb out before he'd needed to focus on avoiding gunfire rather than tossing snide remarks at his big daddy companion. Delta didn't need to say it, Atlas could practically  _feel_  Delta screaming back at him 'I know, I know!' when getting clipped by a bullet from the turret.

Measly ammunition like that did little damage to Delta and when he rammed his drill into the poor turret, it was inescapably clear who was the superior gun here.

All in all, the second plant was an easy find and a slightly less easy grab. But when Delta picked it up with a definite huff of frustration, he at least managed not to crush it before they added it to their little collection kept in Atlas's bag.

One left.

This one was far harder to find. It required too much back-pedalling. Delta and Atlas roaming the floors of the ADAM Laboratories in search of the remaining flower. It meant they were in the testing chambers more than either would have liked and the sense of time running short was bearing down on both of them.

Delta became increasingly distressed as they ran short on places to check.

That distress showed in the way Delta began to stomp around and began upturning things that simply couldn't have been hiding the plant. They were large and not at all hard to spot. Atlas trailed a little behind Delta, looking around more carefully. He was calmer than Delta was, a more level head for a change. So he let Delta push on ahead and break things in his path while trying to do the thinking for both of them this time.

It was purely by accident that Atlas happened upon the third plant. Because he tripped on it. Almost literally.

Despite having been so careful with his footing in the beginning, minutes spent wandering around this awful place had him becoming too complacent and finally it caught up with him.

While walking over one of those unsafe, open areas of floor Atlas's foot caught on the edge of the carelessly placed wooden boards and he tripped forward onto his hands and knees with a string of curses that he was sure would have had Delta trying to scrub his mouth clean with soap had they any handy.

If he was summoned to attention by Atlas's potty mouth or the possibility that Atlas was about to fall to his death was up for debate. Either way, Delta stopped and whipped back around to seek out Atlas to see what had happened.

What he found was an Irishman with his foot jammed between two metal support bars, jerking at his stuck boot with curses being thrown to the wind in every direction.

So - perfectly fine, but mad as hell. Atlas's default state more or less.

Looking up at Delta, Atlas scowled like somehow the big daddy was responsible. Like he'd somehow set up a situation in which Atlas would not only trip but also manage to ensnare himself right then and there. It was such a childish sort of scowl and, despite himself, Delta relaxed some with an amused sigh. A momentary distraction from his mounting stress.

"Well come on!" Atlas barked, face flushed from the shame of such a mess up on his part. "Help me out of here already."

Meandering on over to his trapped companion, Delta allowed himself a little chuckle at Atlas's expense. The man tugging furiously at his trapped leg to try and get free.

But when Delta knelt down to help him with his struggles, he caught sight of something glowing down in the floor beneath them. Pausing Delta's fingers stilled just short of Atlas's boot and when the Irishman snapped at him to demand that the hold up was, Delta gestured downwards. Following his direction, Atlas struggled to look past his leg and down into the prison like area under them.

Sure enough, there was the last ADAM infused plant glowing away. "Ah shit… Yeah, I see it. Down there in the corner of the cell." He grumbled, peering through the exposed rebar to the cell beneath

Frowning, Atlas looked around the gaps in the bars, at best he could probably get a leg through one of them. Or, as he had already, get one foot jammed between them.

"How do we get to it?" Atlas wondered aloud as they both returned to working his boot free.

Delta tried to see if he could pry the bars apart but with only one hand to work with while the drill was in use he couldn't get much done that way.

As Atlas wiggled his ankle free with only just managing to pull one bar back enough to allow for the slightest extra space to move, he began to throw up ideas of simply blowing the fucker. Only to correct himself, knowing that the last thing they needed was more holes in an already unreliable foundation.

With the foot free, Atlas fell back onto his rear, a huff that was equal parts indignation and exhaustion pushed out of him. Then he was pondering, looking around the laboratory floor to see if there was a more obvious, larger opening he might be able to slip through. Even if being lowered down there was the last thing he wanted.

The cells looked barren and inhospitable. Ice having built up around their walls. Even from this distance, Atlas could feel the chill from them. But the plant was down there, glowing tauntingly as it remained out of reach.

"Hey, do you think you could use that telekinesis of yours to-"

"Don't be a slow poke, Mr. B. Angels don't wait for slowpokes!"

A familiar shrill voice cried out from deeper within the facility and both Delta and Atlas stilled upon hearing it. The two shared a frozen look as the little girl's voice echoed through the dilapidated labs. They remained stuck until a rumbling, wordless groan followed the child's voice - the telltale call of a big daddy.

Out there, in the facility, a little sister was wandering around stuck in a dream.

The situation presented to them had just become a bit more difficult. They needed to get to that plant, but they both knew Delta wouldn't leave that girl unattended to.

Truthfully, Atlas couldn't force himself to leave her either.

"Okay...okay yeah…" Atlas muttered to himself, getting to his feet as he scrambled to try and think of what to do. "We- alright, lets go get her, big guy."

Following the sounds of a big daddy was easy, especially once that was clear that was what what they were looking for. It was just a matter of which type they found.

Now, Atlas wasn't going to come out and coin a favourite type of big daddy, they were all massive and perfectly capable of killing on sight. But if he had to pick a  _least_  favourite of the bunch, it would have the be the Rumblers.

At least Bouncers had a certain...charm to them perhaps. A sort of mascot of failure for Rapture. They were the ones Atlas would be having nightmares about the longest that was for sure. If you said 'big daddy' people thought Bouncer. Of the three, Rosie's were the least offensive to Atlas's sensibilities.

But if you said, big fuck off ass monster with a canon, that was a Rumbler.

A great, big thudding beastie with a rocket launcher hooked over one shoulder. Nothing Atlas would put himself in front of unless strictly necessary. Unfortunately this was shaping up to be one of those times.

So when he saw the hulking form of a Rumbler swaying to and fro while its little one gathered from a corpse, Atlas groaned quietly under his breath.

"You know, old boy, I'm beginning to suspect that  _maybe_ God thinks I've pissed in his coffee because this is some bullshit aimed specifically at me." He told Delta factually with a scowl. "Whole damn city is out for me, I tell ya."

Pity party aside, they were in a fairly ideal position, two of them with supplies aplenty, they'd just have to take care of this big guy and snatch up the kid. Easy as pie.

"...I'm not saying it." Atlas muttered under his breath, still rather sore after having so stupidly jinxed them when it came to how easy finding the plants would be.

He hoped that thought crime didn't apply in this case.

Strategising came easy to Atlas. With the Rumbler unaware and otherwise indifferent to them, they could take a moment to think. "Long range is a bit of a bitch but...but I think we'll manage. You keep those rockets off me and-"

Delta made a sound of protest.

"Ah! No, shh, shut up. I can't cover you from rocket fire, you're the one with the fancy telekinesis stuff. We do this my way or we don't do this at all."

It was a baseless threat but Delta simmered down all the same.

"Good, now listen. It's simple. You keep the heavy fire off me, knock the beast back if it gets too..rowdy. Your spears should cover that just fine, and then you can just leave the heroics to me."

Delta was giving him a steady, unshifting stare that had Atlas lofting a brown. "What? Don't I look heroic enough to you?"

The little shrug Delta answered with was decidedly coy. The brat. Atlas's expression screwed up childishly and he jammed a finger against Delta's chest. He was kind enough to pretend it was strong enough to push him back an inch.

"Listen here, tinman. They made posters with my face slapped on 'em! I have songs made after me. I am plenty heroic!"

" _Gentleman."_ Tenebaum's tight voice broke in, clearly tiring of their bickering. "The child." She reminded, bringing them back on track.

"Right. This disbeliever aside, my plan still holds. Go in, go fast, no fuss no muss. Better to stun it then drop it before the poor bastard even knows what's happening." It would be a merciful kill as much as it would be a means to keep them both safe. A drawn out fight could go in too many directions, draw too much attention.

Delta still seemed unconvinced and Atlas merely tossed him a casual smirk.

"Trust me will ya? I've got this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Audio Dairies Auditions: https://www.castingcall.club/projects/bioshock-audio-dairies-tps  
> Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/MaliceAndMacarons

**Author's Note:**

> Go give Gruvu some love, they have wonderful Bioshock art: http://gruvu.tumblr.com  
> I also recommend going and having a look at Rnainframe if you like Bioshock: http://rnainframe.tumblr.com
> 
> And there's me, a sea slug: http://malice-and-macarons.tumblr.com
> 
> OH! And please check out Tomato! She does some absolutely wonderful art, including some art for this AU. Give her some love: http://tomatoscribbles.tumblr.com


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